One Connecting Thread
by harvincy
Summary: Set after DA2 and follows Anders and Alistair as they find themselves on the run from an angry Starkhaven prince & trying to reconcile the one thing from their past that has bound them together, despite their hatred for each other. M for M/M, intense/slightly disturbing themes, and Samson's mouth. Alistair/Anders. Fenris/Samson
1. Prologue: Truffles

[Take place in Act 3 of DA2 before The Last Straw. Default rogue Garrett Hawke. Alistair said 'I quit this bitch' to the Wardens in DA:O, but Teagan never picked him up at The Hanged Man. Never understood the randomness at which that was just tossed in there and I've never bought it. You can try sell it to me, though. Please. Video game debates are my favorite.]

*COWSARECOOL was my beta reader and I adore her

* * *

Prologue: Truffles

I liked to imagine that if I had left my clinic just one minute sooner, I would have never been dropped into this predicament. The Maker, may he damn himself if he exists, decided upon making that particular night the night that I hiked up my responsibility belt and made an extra round of potions. Was there perchance an underlying motive of wanting to be able to sleep in just a bit the next morning? Well, yes, but... Oh, Maker preserve me, it matters not. All of this still happened, regardless of the Maker-forsaken Maker and my intentions.

The last potion rattled unnaturally loud as I set it on my table, an unnoticed omen of what was to come. Staff in hand, I shrugged my shoulders, adjusted my pauldrons, and was a centimeter from the door when it was unceremoniously flung open, pointy ears peaking from under a mop of white hair blocking my vision.

"Andraste's arse, can your murder attempt wait 'til another night? Hawke's something undeniably erotic planned for tonight and I'm already late."

Fenris' sneer pierced my gaze and he jerked his head back, forcing me to glance at the body that he and Sebastian carried between them.

"Oh, lovely. The angry slave and the self-righteous hypocrite. Anyone else sauntering in here tonight of whose shit-list I happen to be at the top? Cullen, perhaps? Samson?"

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow as he gently laid the body on the nearest table with the elf's help. "You've sour dealings with Samson?"

I merely swatted the statement away as if a gnat. "Sirs, the shop is closed for the night."

"Garrett's cock will still be there to suck in the morn." Fenris rounded the table and, as much as he could considering the height difference, met my stare and rigidly jutted a finger towards the body. "Heal, Mage."

If I didn't despise the bastard, I'd almost find his outbursts and pseudo-insults adorable. As it was, he was an annoying piss-ant.

Sebastian, to his credit, decided on a different approach. "Anders, please, 'tis in your blood to heal—"

Fenris muttered a blood mage jeer.

"—and this man is in need of healing."

I glanced at the filthy unmoving body now taking up residence before me, the face so caked with mud that I couldn't make out any characteristics. "Who is this, then? Why is he so important?"

At my inquiry, Fenris' ears drooped, a slight red tinge painting his cheeks. "He... might have... 'surprised' me... Just heal him." He trudged just outside the door before muttering a "please" and stomping, presumably, home.

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose, undoubtedly trying to find the least offensive string of words to coerce me into doing his bidding.

"Don't bother."

Chantry Boy dropped his hand. "Pardon?"

"Don't bother trying to talk me into it. You were right: I heal people; just what I do. So you can skip along after your pal and leave me to it."

"I believe—"

"I believe this is the longest we two have gone without properly insulting each other. Let it remain that way. Goodnight, Sebastian."

A response came in the humble bow of his head and the closing of the door as he exited.

"Garrett's going to kill me," I muttered, propping my staff against the wall and proceeding to the table where the body remained unmoving. I held my hands over the poor sod and felt for misgivings underneath the surface—Nothing. A few more minutes of magically prodding brought forth nothing but a mild concussion.

Leave it to those fools to be paranoid.

There was truly nothing to be done; just two tablespoons of a viscous green liquid and waiting for the stranger to wake. But he was still horrendously dirty, even by my standards, so I grabbed a used bucket of water, purified it, and began wiping him down with the cleanest rags I could find on such short notice.

Little by little, pale, malnourished skin was revealed, as were the lips and nose and hairline and...

"For the love of Pounce, those bastards are dead!"

Alistair's breathing hitched, but he remained in the Fade.

"If I had left just ONE minute sooner..." My sigh was that of projected exhaustion, the weariness taking up residence in my very bones, declaring the unfairness of being forced to remain on my feet in order to help the first man I ever hated that wasn't a Templar assigned to guard me. Or my father.

It had been about 9 years since I had heard the name Alistair Theirin and 8 years since I had first heard some truly mortifying stories about him from a perpetually drunk Oghren who cursed the man's name before metaphorically spitting on his grave. The would-be king had apparently broken the Hero of Fereldan's heart (which led to rumors that she married Loghain out of spite; she was, after all, a first class bitch) and had become the most notorious Warden deserter.

An odd sense of pride would have overcome me had I myself held the title, but I was no one important, just a regular deserter.

But I had to help him, no matter my feelings for the man. Years ago I had made a promise to a mutual... "friend" and I had every intention of upholding my vow to keep Alistair alive and well, even if I had no intentions of babysitting him.

I knew I needed to wake him and keep him that way, but the door creaked open once again, stealing my attention.

"You know, I gave Bodahn and Company the night off, actually went to all the trouble of finding a recipe and cooking, painstakingly selected the perfect wine to complement said meal—even picked the damn strawberries that were to be dipped in the chocolate—and forced Varric to help me uproot whole rose bushes to decorate with." Garrett was leaning against the doorjamb, hands conspiratorially kept behind his back, wearing a mask of indignation. "And do you know how hard it was to smuggle all the candles out of the chantry? Sebastian would have a conniption fit."

Seemingly ignoring the beaten drunkard before me, Garrett sauntered to my side, revealing both the "painstakingly selected" wine, which he set beside Alistair, and a rather large strawberry.

"Just one berry?" I chuckled, dropping the muddy rag and turning to fully face Hawke.

A hand tangled in my hair as the strawberry was dragged across my lower lip. Snaking my tongue out, I licked the fingertip of one of the digits holding the fruit before nipping off a bite, juice dribbling down my chin.

Garrett licked the trail from my neck and chin before wrapping his free arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him.

"Here, really?" I breathed.

"Why not?" Garrett dangled the strawberry between us before adding, "I can be sexy anywhere," and shoving it in his mouth messily, almost completely disproving what he had just declared.

Almost.

I wasted no time in gripping his neck and smashing my lips against his, my tongue moving on its own accord in search of its partner, my hips barely able to remain still though they had no reason to not seek pressure.

The fruit, or what was left of it, found itself amidst a fight of dominance, the juice dribbling down both our chins and beyond.

"This is what happens to bad men when they die, isn't it?"

Though our lips never parted, our juvenile make-out ceased, and Garrett and I both glanced down as Alistair wobbly pushed himself up, his forearms bracing him into a half-recline.

Hazy eyes looked us over, not quite taking in everything. "I was a bad man, that ghost elf thing killed me when I was trying to hand him the copper he dropped, and now I'm going to be forced to watch two men kiss for the rest of eternity. Maker, take me..."

Garrett swallowed most of the strawberry whole before once again licking the trail of juice from my skin.

Detaching myself as best as I could (Garrett would not un-snake his arms from my waist), I placed my hands on the table and put back on my Healer persona. "Alistair, you're not dead; Fenris, the 'ghost elf thing', brought you here for me to administer care. Truth be told, you're quite alright. However, I would like you to stay here overnight, as head wounds can have some rather nasty and terminal affects if not watched."

"My whole life is a head wound," Alistair muttered, fully pushing himself into a sitting position and rubbing his hands over his face.

"You were trying to give Fenris back a COPPER?" Leave it to Garrett to ask the important questions. And always after the fact, too.

"Um, Garrett, Love," I vainly tried releasing myself from Hawke's vice-like grip, "I'm sorry, but we have to put this off."

The grip tightened. "I'm sorry, what did you say about getting off?"

"Hawke!"

"Fine," the Rogue grumbled, all but shoving himself away from me and grabbing the wine, "But a right and proper pounding is non-negotiable tomorrow."

Alistair grimaced at the imagery.

The slammed door and subsequent quiet fell upon us in an unwanted torrent.

A very quiet offering of, "You can follow him, if you like. I'll be fine," was almost inaudible.

All I could do was shake my head. "You're impossible..." I snatched the nearest stool and positioned it in front of him, plopping myself down more out of weariness than anything. "I can't leave you alone with a head injury. On top of the fact that you would probably stumble away and wind-up dead and then I'd have to face the glowy elf."

There was a tenseness to Alistair's form that spoke of an underlying uneasiness of being in my presence than just embarrassment of being hit by Fenris and carted in without his knowing.

Gingerly, I reverted to a regular check-up, placing the back of my hand on his forehead, though I knew no fever resided there.

There was a flinch that tried to be subtle, but I caught it all the same.

"You can tell me what else needs treating," I offered, hoping that not searching for eye contact would lessen the pressure on him.

Nothing happened.

"Alright, well," I stood and made my way to a table towards the back of the clinic, "You can't go back to sleep for a while, so—"

"I know who you are." His voice, firm and clear, had finally found itself.

I froze mid-pace, the tone in which those words were said tap-dancing down my spine. As quietly as possible, I cleared the lump that suddenly appeared in my throat and continued on to the table, keeping my voice as level as possible. "Most people in Kirkwall know who I am. The apostate healer is often the subject of rumor, especially close to the gallows."

"No. I KNOW who you are." I heard a shuffle and a thud as he slid from the table. He shuffled up behind me and I found myself holding my breath as he slid beside me and whispered the one word that I had no reason to believe that I would ever hear again.

An anger completely separate from Justice rose within me, a livid blush coating my body. My voice was weak, but the hatred was there all the same, "How do you know my name?"

"How do you think?" Alistair now wore a self-satisfying smirk. Folding his arms, he leaned on the table, knocking a potion over.

I was too angry to bother with the liquid. "It seems you're all nice and fine," I ground out. "Perhaps you should make your way back to your usual shit-hole?"

"I thought I had a head injury?"

"Oh, sod it, you're fine!" My white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table was threatening to break the wood.

"Then 'sod it' I shall."

_Just leave. Maker take him. Just let him leave._

I heard him walk to the clinic doors, stopping once more. He uttered a sardonic thanks. He uttered my real name. I shot a fireball at him.

* * *

I never cared for traipsing through the High Town markets, but ever since Garrett began insisting on shoving coins in my pockets to help me with my Grey Warden appetite (he didn't particularly like the way I looked when I got too skinny), I had discovered the greatest truffles at one particular stall and would often wait in the early hours for the owner to arrive.

"Mage!"

"Maker's balls..." I pinched the bridge of my nose and waited for Fenris to close the gap between us.

The elf's unmistakable stride brought him within my personal bubble all too quickly. "Why does the Hanged Man Drunk look worse now than when I brought him to you?"

"You **know** I refuse to speak with you without witnesses."

"What did you do?"

"If you start glowing, I'll start glowing, guards will be called..."

"Mage!"

"I did nothing!" There was nothing in Kirkwall that was going to have me admit to attempted murder, especially since, because of the promise I made to mine and Alistair's mutual friend, the fireball missed and barely singed the drunken bastard.

Fenris' indelibly furrowed brow worsened to the point of caving in on him. "You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it?"

"It was three days ago, Slave. He could have gotten himself mixed-up in any number of dealings."

"His right arm's blistered and he's missing his eyebrows; I know from personal observation how you throw fire like a dragon."

The truffle supplier decided to arrive at that moment, along with several other vendors, and I shot Fenris a look that implored him to just kill me later.

The elf stuck his nose and a finger in my face, growled, "Later," and stalked away.

Clearing my head with a shake, I threw on a smile and faced the woman who held my stomach's joy in her hands. "The usual, please." I slapped the currency on the counter only to have it slid back.

"Paid for," the woman said with a sly grin.

"What? Paid for?"

"Yes, Messere. Rather handsome man came yesterday an' paid for three days' worth. Seemed quite a bit taken with ya."

Fighting a rising blush, I nodded a thanks and immediately rushed back home, the truffle box clutched tightly to my chest.

In the grand scheme of things, paying for a few days' of truffles seemed trite. But, to me, it was a sign that Hawke HAD been paying attention. I'd felt for a while at that point that I was little more than an in-house whore. Yes, I loved Garrett. Yes, he'd saved my life more than I'd like to count. Yes, he insisted I called the Amell home "ours." But, in essence, I was I very highly prized possession. Hawke said jump, I had to guess how high and do so and hope that it satisfied him. He dictated when we slept, when we left the house (my clinic time being the only exception), and he had even gone so far as to supply me with several new robes in the colors and fit of his choosing.

I was his Healer, so I was indispensable. I let him have his way with me, so I shared his bed.

When I spoke, it was more to fill the silence between supper and sex. So the fact that he had actually picked up on my mentioning the morning truffle stops on my way to the clinic actually touched me.

I knew it wasn't out of LOVE. Love never entered into the picture, at least on Garrett's end. That whole... cooking, rose bush, perfect wine night was just something Hawke did every once in a while in order to keep me. He knew that even possessions needed to be treated well and told they had a bit of value sometimes. But this truffle revelation... It showed he at least cared about me as his partner, somewhat. I'd take what I could.

The sun had barely risen as I practically kicked open the door to our room, knowing full-well Hawke would still be laying diagonally across the bed with the sheets bundled haphazardly amidst a tangle of limbs.

I felt renewed as I looked at him. Who would have thought a few truffles could have done that?

"Hm? Anders?" Golden eyes so much brighter than my own blinked tiredly at me as I divested myself of my clothing and began a slow crawl over him, pushing the sheets aside and kissing as much skin as I possibly could. "You're not at the clinic?"

I made it to his lips and any arguments or questions from the other man fizzled away as his fingers locked into my hair and he latched onto my bottom lip, biting and sucking until it was swollen. Of course, it led to other swelling as well.

Both of my hands were pinned none-too-gently above my head as Garrett rolled us over and he hovered above me, roughly grinding his hips into mine.

I pulled away gently to murmur, "Thank you," before returning to the dizzying kiss.

A chuckle. "What for this time?" More kissing. More grinding.

Moaning. "The truffles." Ceasing.

"Truffles?" Garrett pulled away from me all too quickly. "What in the bloody deep roads is a truffle? Chocolate? What in the fade does chocolate have to do with anything? I gave you nothing! Someone gave you truffles?"

Apparently, I had made a grave miscalculation. Garrett's face turned scarlet and it spread down his naked form.

I think I tried forming words, but nothing left my mouth.

With a growl, Garrett's grip on my wrists tightened well past the point of pain. "Where. Did. You. Get. The. Truffles?"

"Madame Mickal's," left me in a gasp.

Hawke became a blur of color and grunts as he threw on his leathers from the day before and stormed out of the room, stopping only to snatch up the small box I had placed on the mantle.

I could not let Garrett make a scene. The truffles had become one of the only happy points in my life that Justice actually allowed me to have, and, if Garrett ruined it, I had not a clue with what to replace it.

My robes were barely fastened by the time I made it to the front door and back into the brightening daylight. Feet moving automatically, I made it to Mickal's just after Garrett.

"...paid for them?" Hawke deserved credit for being so calm, though his fingers were gripping the shop table to the point of leaving indentations. His voice was even, his face was its normal color, and his stance was no-more threatening than usual.

"Messere, like I told ya, he didn' leave a name. Wasn' even that mem'rable outside o' his havin' no eyebrows."

I bit down on a finger to prevent the "Oh bloody shit" from slipping out of me.

Hawke nodded in thanks and tipped the woman a silver. Turning, he caught my gaze and walked forwards until he was breathing my air. "You go straight to the clinic and straight home. You understand me? No more truffles. No more stops at the Hanged Man when you think I won't know. No more 'just browsing' in the Low Town markets. You take the cellar path there and back. Am I clear, Anders?"

There were too many witnesses for Hawke to cause a scene, but if I angered him, I'd certainly pay for it later. "Yes, Garrett."

"After what just happened with Merrill being captured by the Templars and the ever escalating shit between Orsino and Meredith... Just quit being an idiot, Anders. My being Champion isn't getting anybody out of anything anymore." He shoved the box he still held into my hands and spat, "Make it last," before walking away and muttering, "Andraste's arse, who has no eyebrows?" From the corner of my eye, I saw him eying the brows of every man he passed.

I made my way back home in order to take the cellar route to the clinic. If Hawke were to spy me outside of my allowed course then, I'd most likely wind-up having to heal myself from a blow.

* * *

There was only one person I trusted with what needed to be done. I had Esten, one of my newest day helpers, run a message to Varric that I needed to see him ASAP.

Hours and dozens of patients later, neither Esten nor Varric materialized. The worst part was that Justice was constantly berating me for my lack of focus. I inwardly argued with him for the entirety of the day, explaining that it was reasonable to be worried for the poor girl who I sent to find Varric; what if they were both in trouble? What if, after finding Varric and beginning to return, Esten and said man found themselves in the middle of a throng of bandits? Esten would panic, as she certainly had no fighting skills—nor a weapon—and Varric, who would be smitten by the girl's comely and ample looks, would slip into a routine based more on braggadocios ego than focused killing. They would surely be over-taken by the thugs and brought to the docks, where they would be tied-up and placed on an auction block. Varric would go for a handsome price to someone with a grudge against him who would use the dwarf for hard manual labor, most likely shoveling manure in a traveling fair. Esten would be bought immediately by someone with baser needs and would probably be forced to wear lacy underthings while standing on ladders to dust bookcases and such.

Justice told me I was an idiot, no such auction block existed in Kirkwall, and to watch what I was doing before I stitched, not only the cheek wound of the boy in front of me, but his eye as well.

I had extinguished the lanterns outside of the clinic shortly after noon, still wrapped up in Esten and Varric being absent, so the crowds dissipated a lot sooner than usual.

Having just adjusted my staff on my back and ushering out the last of my helpers, I ran to my curtained-off former bedroom, retrieving the box of truffles and securing them within my robes.

"Anders!"

Habits had me reaching for my staff as I whirled on my heels, but it was only Samson. "Maker's breath, don't do that!"

The former highly regarded Templar turned lyrium beggar stayed plastered to a spot in the doorway. "You might wanna come quickly, mate. Ruckus in the streets with your name written all over it."

My blood ran cold. "Of what are you speaking?"

Nothing in Samson's form held mirth or his normal ill-placed sarcasm. "Just c'mon. Hawke's already there."

That was all I needed to hear. He and I tore through the hidden passages of Dark Town and through the alleys and side streets of Low Town, finally emerging under a low-hanging awning.

Samson was correct: This ordeal had my name all over it. Hawke was trying his best to talk down both Meredith and Orsino but was getting himself too worked-up to be of any good. One ill-spoken quip had Orsino rushing off to summon Grand Cleric Elthina and...well, you know the rest. I cannot truly say that it was all Justice's doing; I felt such a great release in watching the sky turn bloody and mentally dancing through the falling ashes. Even Sebastian's cries to the Maker were melodious.

All merriment dissipated when my eyes met Garrett's. There was no anger. No hatred. No disappointment. Fear was resonating through his being and poured out through his eyes, causing my knees to buckle and having me collapse onto a nearby crate, my staff falling behind me.

Everything else came in a rush of quick colors and harsh words. I did not even try to defend myself to Garret, fully expected a blade in my back or across my throat. What I didn't expect was to be hauled to my feet and shoved away towards an alley.

Gripping my shoulders, Garrett spun me around and smashed his lips to mine before pressing our foreheads together and practically begging, "Run. Don't come back, Anders, for my sake. Just stay..." I knew he wanted to say "safe" but he couldn't form the word. "Just stay away." Before he could change his mind or I could act, he ran back to the others, Sebastian declaring war at the top of his lungs to anyone and everything.

It was the first time in my life that fleeing didn't seem right. It was also the first time that I hesitated in obeying Garrett.

"Fuckin' idiot, move!" An arm snaked around my neck from behind and unceremoniously dragged me backwards through alleys I couldn't even see for the tears lining my lids.

Sounds of fighting ignited all around us, enveloping myself and the cursing stranger in an audible bloodbath.

"I have to go back..." I murmured. "I have to go back..."

The arm stopped dragging me only to whip me around and slam me into the nearest wall. Samson's eyes were so dilated I could not even see the normal outlining of green, but what shocked me even more was that the same look of fear Hawke wore only moments prior was now taking up residence on Samson's features. "You just single-handedly brought about the slaughter of the mages and destroyed the one place of peace in this fuckin' shit-hole and you wanna go back?" The normal bite to his words was gone and a soberness that never touched him was quite apparent. "You're lucky to have walked, Anders. C'mon. Keep going."

I didn't budge. "Why are you doing this? We've not been on good terms for... ever."

There was a frustrated growl and a slamming of fists on the wall beside me. "Maker, sod it! C'mon, Anders!"

Justice would stop this. I had to go back; I had to help Hawke. But I certainly couldn't hurt Samson. The addict and I may not have had any foundations of a relationship, but he was in the processes of trying to protect me. _Justice, I need your help now._ Nothing. _Justice... Justice!_

So distracted as I was with trying to conjure Justice (something that had me more than a little bit concerned), I didn't notice Samson getting himself into a lifting position and wrapping his arms around my waist, struggling but succeeding in flinging me head-first over his shoulder. He stumbled a bit, but found a pace and began awkwardly walking out of the alley and into the middle of such chaos that the Arishok ordeal looked like nothing but excited children on Feast Day.

The magnitude of what I had started only barely scratched the surface as I watched a Templar blade slice into a young girl across the way from me. Then I heard it: "He sided with the Templars! Don't hurt the Champion!"

Another Templar cocked his head. "That cock-sucker he had is with him?"

"No, the healer mage is fair game."

Samson must have heard the exchange because his pace picked up considerably. I couldn't let him carry me, it just wasn't feasible.

I surprised myself with my own air of calm. "Put me down."

"No." The struggle heard in just the one word was enough to prove Samson wasn't going to last much longer.

"I'll not run. I'll go with you. Just put me down."

A disbelieving pause. A hesitant acquiesce. Samson gripped my shoulders yet again and held my gaze. "Do not run, Anders. If you go back to Hawke, you're dead."

"I have to do **something**."

"You're everyone's target right now and there's too much chaos; you can't do anything right now but try to get out and regroup."

"I just—" My sentence ended when a strong hand landed on both of our backs.

"Gentlemen, we seem to be in the middle of the last days and you two are just standing here as if deciding what tea to have with supper. Oh," Alistair offered me a lop-sided grin, "and everyone wants to be the one to lob your head across Dark Town. Your clinic and the Amell estate were the first to fall."

Too much information was coming at me and I couldn't process it. I just stared at the taller man and, for once, prayed to the Maker than this was the most intense nightmare I had ever experienced.

Samson and Alistair were having a quick exchange of words that I wasn't grasping, except several sentences at the end.

"...never make it to the docks."

"No need," Alistair said. "I've got a frigate situated not far from here. We just have to jump down from the city wall."

"A frigate?" Samson asked incredulously. "You're the city drunk, how could you afford that?"

"And you're the city addict; what's your point?"

Samson growled. "Let's just go. How we've not been spotted is beyond me."

"YOU!" A cry dripping with the unmistakable Starkhaven brogue snapped us all to attention.

"Take him! Go!" Samson shoved Alistair and myself further along the street.

I reached for the man's hand. "Sam—"

"Just go!" Samson threw himself into a run and collided head-on with Sebastian, knocking the breath out of the archer. The last thing I saw as Alistair dragged me away was Samson wrestling an arrow from the fallen prince and attempting to stab him in the neck.

Alistair all but dragged me through Low Town, stopping by a cut-out in the city wall, which he peeked out of and pulled me next to him so I could see the so-called frigate situated in the sea about six meters down.

I shook my head; there was no way I was jumping down. "You said you had a FRIGATE."

Alistair nodded as he flung one leg over the opening and straddled it. "That IS a frigate."

"That's a play thing!" The boat was little more than what sailors used to traverse from boat to shore, if that.

"I don't see any other options, murderer. Get in the damn frigate!"

"I'm not—"

"Don't make me use your real name, Anders!"

"IF YOU—"

Alistair reached out, wrapped his arms around my torso, and fell backwards into the water, my screams plummeting after us.

I threw myself over the side of the minuscule vessel, my robes now weighted down as soaked as they were. Alistair, in his smock and trousers, had a much easier time climbing aboard. Two big hands gripped under my arms and hoisted me from the sea, laying me out as finger made quick work of removing my garb.

"What in Andraste's name do you think you're doing?"

Alistair rolled his eyes and kept going until the heavy robes were completely open. "You can't wear these unless you want to be spotted from a league away. On top of that, you can barely swim in them; what if you fall overboard? We're going to be in here for a while." He pulled me into a sitting position and shoved the clothing from my shoulders. "Besides, you've got trousers on."

I actually agreed with him, on top of the fact that they were Garrett's favorite robes, and I certainly wanted no reminders of that man at the moment.

Awkwardly, Alistair helped me maneuver until he held the material in a tight bundle. He was about to toss it overboard when a thought hit me.

"Wait!" Lurching forward, I dug around in the bundle he held until I found the small truffle box.

"Those are probably ruined now," Alistair said quietly as he tossed the robes into the water.

"Don't care," I replied, popping one into my mouth. It was more delicious than it had any right to be.

"Try one."

"Not a big chocolate fan. Cheese, yes. Chocolate, no."

I shrugged, laying the box on the small seat next to me. "Why did you get them for me anyway, No Brows?"

A faint blush rose in his cheeks and his boots suddenly became very interesting to him. "I wanted a truce."

"I evaporated your eyebrows and you wanted a truce?"

"I antagonized you— it's not as if I'm innocent." His fingers were next to become fascinating. "I... Your name... Maker, I don't even know what I want to say. I didn't want to lose... I didn't want to ruin the only connection I have to... him..."

I knew exactly what he meant. "You know, we actually already had a truce. I could've killed you with that fireball if I had wanted."

"And... why didn't you?"

"I think you know why. It's the same reason you stole a lifeboat and threw me over a wall." I popped another truffle into my mouth, but the taste was an embodiment of disappointment and grief. "I'm actually glad he can't see me right now."

Alistair gazed at me until I met his stare. "It won't go away. That feeling that you've let him down? It'll stay with you."

I knew he was right, but I couldn't think about it. I pressed for Justice, but I seemed empty. He couldn't have left me, could he?

Alistair untied a make-shift anchor and took up the oars, saying he'd take the first shift. A symphony of death and destruction danced through the air and wrapped itself around our little floating haven. Closing my eyes, I tried barring my thoughts from the immediate reality of what I had started. Or had Justice started it? It didn't matter; I had gotten exactly the revolution I wanted. It just so happened that my revolution came with much collateral damage.

Looking back, I'm a bit surprised my thoughts didn't drift to Hawke, but rather landed on my would-be rescuer. "I wonder what happened to Samson," I murmured.

"That's one tough bastard," Alistair chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's now wanted for the murder of that Starkhaven princeling."

There was a pregnant pause in which Kirkwall steadily faded into the background and Alistair's grunts from rowing became more and more apparent. Without asking, I took the oars from him and began my turn at bringing us further and further from the surreal firelight of my former home.

When Kirkwall was a speck in the distance, I asked, "Where did you intend on going, anyway?"

Alistair merely shrugged, finally relenting and taking a truffle out of the box beside me. "Not bad."

I laughed despite myself, my thoughts still resting on Samson.

I made note to save a truffle for him.

* * *

A/N: First time writing any form of fiction, so critiques would make my blackened little heart flutter. I just have to get this story out for some reason- my coffee shop's suffering because of my obsession with it :) It's definitely a story I've always played out in my head during the games. It does have a path and an ending all worked-out, it's just an issue of getting it written and posted.


	2. Chapter 1: Town of No Name

*COWSARECOOL is cool herself. Especially when she betas.

* * *

Chapter 1: Town of No Name

Alistair refused to ask the name of the town in which we found ourselves, arguing that should Sebastian or Templars with a grudge come wandering about, we didn't want any locals saying "Well, there were these two fellows asking all about the place." I argued that no one was going to rat us out over a name. Regardless, he would refer to it as "Fishermen's Island That We Crashed Into When We Both Fell Asleep" or "FITWCIWWBFA" for short. And, yes, he did constantly use the abbreviation, Maker take him. He claimed to be keeping an open ear for the island's actual name, but apparently no one ever said.

"They just shout 'We're fishermen!' and raise a glass— even if they don't actually have one —every bloody time anybody brings up anything remotely skirting the mere thought of a name."

I lifted the spoon from the kettle before me and tested the consistency of the soup I was making. "That made no sense, Alistair."

"Nothing on FITWCIWWBFA makes sense! I swear, Anders, the frigate crashed and we died. We were wrong about death and the fade— THIS is where horrible people go."

Scooping a hearty serving into a clay bowl I had made, I slid it across the wooden table he himself had crafted. "Just shut up and eat."

"My, my, aren't you testy."

"Two bloody months, Alistair." I fixed a bowl for myself and plopped down like an angry child opposite him in our cramped kitchen/study/bedroom we rented on the outskirts of the fishing community. "I've not set foot outside this room in two months. I'm going absolutely mental."

"And we all know what you conjured up the last time you lost it."

A dozen terrible comebacks rolled through my mind, but I shoved all in a mental chest for a later date. I was too tired to argue, though that was the entire foundation of our relationship. Well, almost.

Alistair was already standing and fixing himself another serving. Sitting, he pulled a flask for his vest, taking a rather large swig. Examining the container, he shrugged and poured most of it into the soup itself. I never understood how he became a functioning alcoholic. But the blacksmith he assisted apparently didn't mind as we still had a steady income.

I wouldn't let go the subject of my pseudo-imprisonment. I understood why I could not leave, truly. Alistair had made the loudly clear on the first day right after he shoved me in a large chest he had immediately stolen and dragged me through the entire town to our current abode.

"I can go out," I had argued when we arrived, "I should be allowed out. We're on some nondescript island."

"How can you even think of endangering us that way?" Alistair cried. I had gotten used to being on the receiving end of such yelling after years of being with Garrett, but Alistair's rants, while genuine and loud, lacked the predatory destructiveness of Hawke's. "After everything you started? And, if Sebastian IS still alive, he saw me with you, which means you and I are stuck together because I'd rather be running with another fugitive than stumbling on my own."

"I just don't see—"

"You really want to continue on with this? After people died because of you, for you?"

"Who died for me?"

"Samson died for you!"

That was the end of that.

So as I found myself sitting across from yet another man who was dictating my every move, I decided to try a different tactic in my Get-the-ever-living-fuck-out-of-the-house scheme. "I'd much like a cat," I said tentatively. I felt as though I was back at the Amell estate, peaking shyly across the dining table and asking my dominate superior for a bit more allowance just so I could function in the normal world.

Alistair cocked a finally grown-back eyebrow as he contemplated, not only my request, but the tone in which it was asked and my posture. He was learning to read me, as he'd awoken one to many times to me trying ever quietly to sneak out the front door or a window or, one disastrous time, the much too small chimney.

"Not a cat," he said finally. "Nothing with four legs. Or wings." He paused before running his fingers over his eyebrows and hastily adding, "Or that could breathe fire."

About to snap that his stipulations left me no options, I checked myself, noting that he hadn't said "no" to the idea of a pet and we WERE making headway. Besides, he would have to be the one to acquire the animal, so I couldn't really piss him off. Keeping my voice and posture as submissive as I could muster, I asked, "I understand the fire-breathing, surely. Why nothing with four legs or wings?"

"Too easy to slip outside. What if that happens when I'm not here? You know you'd run after it, and we already went over time and time again why that can't happen."

My fingers were twisting and pulling on themselves underneath the table. "It's been two months, Alistair. Surely it'd be okay for me—"

Not waiting for me to finish, Alistair gruffly shoved himself away from the table, proceeding to take the four steps to the front door and flinging it open, presenting the illusionary [is illusionary even a word? I'd love for it to be a word. I should work on that.] freedom to me in an overly-dramatic flourish. "Here then. Go ahead."

My plan had already back-fired.

"Well?"

"That's not..."

"What? That's not what you were speaking of? Did you not want to step outside? Go ahead; there's still light out. I'll draw you a map of what they consider town square. Oh, stop by the tavern! Yes, that should do the trick! Stop by the tavern and order a round for everyone! Just make sure you say I'm with you when they turn you over to Starkhaven; I've been going by Gethin."

"They cannot know—" Interrupted yet again.

"Of course they know, Anders! The whole damn world knows! Even piss-ant little hovels like FITWIB- FITBA- Oh, Maker, sod it! Are you going out or not?"

Admittedly, I didn't know how to handle him when he got like this. All I could do was sit.

"Thought as much." He slammed the door, lowering the bar to keep it tightly shut, and flung himself stomach first onto his small bed, one leg never quite making it.

Left at the table staring at my food, I found myself not plagued by the infamous Warden appetite for once.

I would clean up tomorrow, I decided. Alistair knew how to thoroughly exhaust me in a matter of seconds. After extinguishing the candles, I pulled my silken smock over my head and tossed it into the crate at the foot of my own bed before climbing under my blanket.

This could not have been what... what our friend wanted. I turned my head to face Alistar, who was not even a meter away, his eyes wide and focused on me.

"I'm not trying to be a monster," he whispered almost painfully. "I barely keep any money for myself; I try to keep you happy."

Guilt flooded me at the bare truth at the simple statement. As small as our one-room abode was, it was made starkly smaller by all the items Alistair had either built for or proudly bestowed upon me in our short time there; my favorite items being the pottery wheel he bartered from a passing tradesmen and the dark-wood bookcase he'd spent ten days carving before dinner each of those days that he subsequently filled with a sundry array of tomes. Not to mention outfitting me in very fine garments.

My hatred for him almost completely dissipated. And, in truth, I was finding it hard to remember exactly why I ever hated the man that I barely knew outside of rumor and gossip.

We were still staring at each other. Often we would find ourselves holding each other gazes, trying to speak without words. We both knew the conversation we desperately needed to have.

I decided to nail my courage to the sticking place and initiate what would most likely be a very uncomfortable discussion. "I've never thought you a monster, Alistair, and I don't think I ever could. In truth, I feel quite a fair amount of guilt that you would go so far out of your way for me and keep so little for yourself."

"I'm trying to work on ways of getting you outside, it's just... taking longer than I would like, and I can't help the frustration I feel at myself for having to keep you locked up like a hideously deformed third cousin. I don't want your existence to be shackled to this little place. Frankly, I'd like to move closer to the beach and build a bigger place."

Warmth spread through me. "Why are you doing this? You could turn me in to Sebastian and live out your days a well-off and content man."

"Well-off, perhaps, but never content." Alistair folded his arms in front of himself and propped his chin up, staring out the window before us. "I made a vow, Anders, and I fully intend on keeping it."

I knew the vow of which he spoke; it was probably the same one I had made over a decade ago to the first man I ever mourned.

Alistair's thoughts were now far away from the hovel. I took him in like I had never allowed myself before to do. He was not taller than myself, but certainly broader, his musculature still echoing a warrior-born, and all the labor to which he'd subjected himself lately had helped to keep him from getting too soft. His face was quite handsome, though aged beyond his years, which saddened me; I'd wished his life had not been quite so tumultuous. After all that time, he still kept his hair cropped and his face relatively clean-shaven. But he was so tense.

My body rose on its own accord. Silently, I pulled a very confused Alistair into a sitting position and took off his vest and top that he had never removed.

"Err, Anders..." He swallowed roughly, his tone a clear indicator that his throat had gone quite dry. "I'm not quite sure if I'm misreading this—"

It was my turn to interrupt him, "You are. Just relax. I've no desire to debauch you. No offense."

A relieved chuckled. "None taken." He let out a low moan as my hands applied pressure systematically down his back, warm waves of magic drifting from my fingertips to his muscles, the tightness unraveling bit by bit as he began relaxing into my touch, pushing back into me from time to time.

Suddenly, my desire to be the bigger person and bring up the conversation we desperately need to have just disappeared; Alistair deserved one night of uninterrupted, comfortable sleep. But that didn't mean it left my mind.

My thoughts went far back, almost fifteen years. To that first time. I couldn't help myself. I should have never allowed myself to remember. But it was what led to the vow I made that now had Alistair and I bound. Before I could stop myself, I bent to place a kiss between his shoulder blades; a faint kiss, but one that caused Alistair's breathing to cease upon contact.

"I'm sorry," I murmured even as I placed another kiss under the first.

"Anders..." came the sigh.

My next "I'm sorry" didn't stop two more brushes of my lips.

"Don't..."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't stop."

My hands continued to roam slowly across his back and shoulders before slipping around to his chest, my lips meeting whatever skin they could.

I suckled his earlobe, eliciting a groan and a name, but not my own. My heart hurt far too much to continue. Before he could protest, I pulled him down next to me on the cramped bed and pulled his back flush to my chest. I placed one final kiss to his neck before pulling the blanket over us, vowing to buckle down and have that conversation with him tomorrow.

As if to solidify my decision, Alistair fell asleep as he murmured that name once again, "Duncan."

* * *

Being a light sleeper by nature, my eyes opened the second Alistair jerked awake and removed himself from my arms, standing and trudging to the kitchen to begin fixing a kettle of tea.

Before he reached the fireplace, I shot a small fireball under the kettle.

Alistair yelped and grabbed his heart. "Andraste's knickers, Anders! I think we've had about four dozen discussions about you _warning_ me when you do that!"

I smiled to myself, but his use of the word "discussion" brought last night careening back to mind. "Alistair. Forget the tea for a moment, please."

His tense stance returned; I was all-too familiar with it. "We're both lonely. It happens. Or, well, it DIDN'T happen. But it could- it almost- the possibility..." He sighed, resigning himself to sit opposite me on my own bed. "We're actually going to talk about him, aren't we?"

"We have to."

"Alright. Then I'll go first." He took a deep breath and held it almost too long before letting it out with a string of quiet words, "Duncan saved me. Maybe not physically, but he certainly changed the outcome for the better. I say 'for the better' as if becoming the laughable town drunk was what he wanted for me... It's my own fault that I wound-up how I did, not his. He set me on the path I should have followed. SHOULD have. I regretted every day walking away from the Wardens. That regret fueled the drinking." He spared a glance at his flask left on the table, laughing darkly and adding, "Probably still does. I was young when he brought me into the Wardens. I suffered from the biggest curse of hero worship you can imagine. I loved him, but it was reverential love; does that make sense?"

I nodded, not wanting to throw him off with any words.

"Of course, at the time," he continued, his voice dropping so low I was thankful he was almost directly in front of me, "I was very confused by all of it. I thought I actually LOVED him, so it didn't help matters that I almost seemed to be getting special treatment, like he was singling me out. He never trained directly with the other recruits, yet I found myself constantly training with him one-on-one. If anyone took offense, nothing was said. All it led me to believe was that..." He turned six shades of red and buried his face in his hands. "Maker, how stupid was I? That a man like that could have any feelings for a child like me."

He stared absently out of the window for a long time, but I was too afraid that if I spoke, he'd shut himself up and run.

Just before my breaking point, he finally spoke again, "The night I wanted to tell him, to ask him about... us... I never got the chance. A lot of times we would sit in his room after supper and just talk of anything. He knew my blood-line, my heritage, but he never made me feel odd about it, except for every now and then asking me how I would feel about ruling. But that night, none of the unimportant talk or even the 'being king' talk came up. He started talking to me about this other man. He spoke of how much, for a reason he couldn't figure out, I reminded him of that man. There was so much sadness in him. I realized then why he spent so much time with me: I was the closest thing to that man that he would find in his life. I instantly hated that man."

My voice broke from me at that moment, "Did he say who the man was? A name?"

Alistair bit back a morose laugh. "Yes. Two. A nickname and a real name."

I buried my face in my hands, muffling my curses, "Sod everything. Just sod it all."

"Did you love him?"

Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I replied, "We weren't involved, if that's what you're thinking. I grew up in the circle—"

"I know. Duncan regaled me with, what I believe to be, your whole sob story. How did you MEET him exactly?"

"Wait, he spoke of my time in the circle, but never said how we met?"

"No. And I was too pissed to question any of it."

"Well, it was my... fourth escape from the tower. I was pretty good at evading the Templars at that point, but not a master. I'd been lost in the woods for about four days, passed out from hunger and dehydration when Duncan stumbled upon me. He saved my life. Physically." I stopped abruptly.

"That's... it?" If Alistair cocked his left eyebrow anymore, it would stay that way permanently.

Just get it out. "No. No, it's not. I didn't realize that Duncan was actually on his way to the circle when I bumped into him. He fed me, gave me water, and even let me camp with him that night. There was something about him. I felt like I could tell him anything. I launched into my 'sob story' and I saw something in him that I just had to have for myself. It wasn't pity. Certainly wasn't love; I'd just met the man. I think it was just understanding I saw. The fact that there was someone in this world that felt just a little bit sympathetic— maybe even empathetic —and wanted to extend a hand to help in some form, it made me happy for the first time in a very long time. I didn't WANT him, I just wanted to stay WITH him."

I noticed suddenly that Alistair's eyes had been locked on me. "Keep going."

"I ran into him again at a later escape attempt, this time in Lothering."

"Maker's breath, what made you escape and go to Lothering?"

"Head wound," I snapped. "Anyway, he actually had the same reaction youjust did. There were Templars about, far too many, and he let me stay in the room he was renting for the duration of his stay, which was only about another five days."

"Why was he there?"

"I don't remember—"

"You didn't ask—"

"Alistair, do me a favor and put 'learn to quit interrupting people' at the top of your life's list, alright?" I had to momentarily stop and collect my thoughts. "He just let me talk to him when we were together. He made sure I was alright. Like you, I felt a bit... special. And, like you, by the end of the fifth day, I was very confused. I wanted to repay him for his kindness..."

"I thought you said you two weren't involved?"

"If you interrupt me one more time, Alistair, Maker help you, you'll be devoid of your eyebrows AND your hair. We were NOT involved."

"You just said—"

I let a small bolt of electricity tap his knee.

"Shit!"

"Can I go on?" I waited through a pout and a nod before continuing, "I WANTED to be involved, I'll admit to that. But I felt as you did: How could a man like that love a child like me? So I fell back to something at which I knew I was good: seduction. I offered to just give a massage, and he actually agreed to it. It started innocently enough, just using little waves of warmth to help him unwind. But I couldn't help myself. I had to taste something of him. I began to kiss his back, as much as he would let me. He turned at that point and I thought he was going to strike me, but there was just... understanding. I'd like to think some lust was in there as well, but my memory might just have that in there for my own personal sake. He didn't actually ask me to stop, but the way he said my name, or, actually, the way he said 'Anders,' it made me realize that I had to hear my real name from his voice. So I told it to him. I'd never told anyone my real name once I went in the circle. But I had to let him know. When he said it, I realized I'd do anything for him. Talk about hero worship."

"I was just as bad."

"At least you spent real time with him, actually got to know him. I was inwardly pledging my life to him after a few days."

"Sometimes that's all you need."

I wanted to comment on the ignorance of the statement but let it go. "Nothing happened past the few kisses to his back."

"Is that why... Is that why last night happened?"

I nodded. "I'm reminded of him every time I look at you. Everything just bubbled over last night."

He waited a beat before asking, "What happened after Lothering?"

"THAT I would rather not speak of right now; it's no bearing on Duncan anyway. But I'm assuming he met you after that."

We both stared at our hands for the longest time. It's amazing how interesting your own anatomy can become when you want to avoid something right in front of you.

A shaking hand slid into my vision and lightly gripped my chin, lifting my head slightly. "I really don't want to ask this," Alistair whispered, "but when did you start hating me? I know we've never said it outright, but... Perhaps up until two months ago, we hated each other's existence, even if we truly didn't know it."

"Oh, no," I chuckled, "I knew I hated you."

A sad smile appeared. "When?"

I wanted to lower my gaze again, but the hand wouldn't allow it. "I can't tell the whole thing, Alistair. It was one of my last escapes. I sought him out. When I found him, all he could speak of was you, and how much of you he saw in me." I finally held his gaze. "He made me promise that if you and I were to ever cross paths, that I would watch out for you and somehow help you with whatever path you were on. I knew then that I couldn't let him down, for whatever reason."

"It was as if some spell came over you, wasn't it? The Hero of Fereldan, may she one day rest in peace, said the same thing." There was a brief pause. "Duncan made me make a promise to him as well: That I would watch out for a fiery piss-ant of a mage and somehow help him with whatever mission he happened to be on." He slid from the bed and knelt between my knees, his hand still holding my chin. "I'm trying. You're still here, and I'll be damned if I fail now."

The smile that snuck onto my face held sadness with a bit of joy, mirroring Alistair's. "I'm not upholding my end of anything."

"You started the revolution."

"Then fled. Fled into hiding and learned the art of pottery."

"Art?" Alistair snorted, glancing over at my misshapen bowls that still took up room on the table.

Removing his hand from my chin, I gripped it tightly with both of mine. "Regardless of whatever childhood dreams brought us together and KEPT us together, there're other things that need to be done. You cannot keep me locked up in here any longer. And, even if we can't go to Kirkwall or Fereldan, we must do something. I've been submissive long enough. Who knows what's happened in the time since we left..." I realized then that Alistair was now holding one of my hands between his. "Alistair?"

"Hm? Yes, I agree. But, truth be told, you were never held captive here. I never locked the doors or anything from the outside. There are no bars on the windows."

"You manhandled me onto the bed every time I tried to leave!"

"You were going to get stuck in the chimney! I know we argue over it constantly and I SOUND like I'd be cross and like I... I mean, I was trying to think of something, and... Maker help me..." He shoved my hands away and stood, digging clothes out of the box at the foot of his bed, quickly changing into simple clothes of a farmhand and fumbling with his boots. It was actually cute how red and flustered he became when he was embarrassed, though I wasn't quite sure why he felt that way at the moment. He stopped at the door and dropped his shoulders, rubbing his eyes. "You're not a captive, Anders. I just pray, PRAY you're careful. Please, just stay safe. I'll be back early and, whatever scheme you hatch, I'll go with you." He stepped outside and closed the door.

Left alone, once again, I knew what I had to do. I hadn't heard Justice since "the incident," as I preferred to think of it, so I didn't even bother trying to speak with him. I took it upon assumption that Alistair would be leaving the Blacksmith's employ and coming home with his final wages, so I knew that would be our cue to leave, as we couldn't hang around without any income.

I snatched Alistair's shaving knife from his box and stepped in front of the standing mirror close to my bed where my beard, and as much scruff as I could catch, were removed. I stared at my messy ponytail for a while before reaching back and slicing it off. It did nothing for my looks, but it was certainly different from the wanted posters I was sure were in existence. I borrowed some of Alistair's garb, as it was simpler than my own, and slipped into my boots. I decided to obscure my face more, so I took one of my tunics and sliced it into a bandana and pulled down low on my forehead. Scooping up my coin pouch and heading to the door, I took a deep breath. I was either about to start something great or wind-up getting Alistair and myself lynched and stoned.

* * *

"Fifteen silvers?" I stared at the wagon of boxes before me. I wished Alistair was with me, as he'd grown quite a skill at talking vendors down on their prices. "Fifteen silvers and I have to bring the wagon back?"

The old man leaned against the wagon, spitting and running a tongue over his few remaining teeth.

"What if I wanted to keep the wagon?"

"Six gold."

"SIX GOLD?"

"You wannit or not, boy? Ain't nobody got time fer this..."

"Fine, fine. I'll just take the boxes. The wagon will be brought back tomorrow." Grudgingly, I dug around in the coin purse Alistair had given me ("Just in case.") and handed over the correct amount before hurriedly shoving the wagon out on the main thoroughfare and towards home. Alistair had been right when he said the place was much like Redcliffe Village, just dirtier, less crowded, no trees whatsoever, and not as many teeth. But the people were friendly— except the man who sold me the boxes—and I found I could roam freely without so much as a double-take. Our little shack wasn't so far away from everyone else that it would be suspicious, but it did provide a good deal of privacy. I immediately set to work packing our little home.

Home. I paused my packing and just looked around. This shack, in two short months, had transformed into home; and OUR home, at that. Alistair had steady work that he actually liked and I'm sure, if I played my cards right, I could have found work myself now that Alistair was dealing with my stepping outside.

"We could actually make this work," I said to myself. Hesitancy began creeping into my limbs. My packing slowed. The eagerness to leave was retreating. Now that Alistair and I were airing our dirty laundry, living together would be pleasant. He had even said he wanted a bigger place. And he and I could even be... closer. Maybe. In time.

I began to think I was being an idiot. Alistair had, not only saved my life, but established a nice existence, poor as it may have appeared to outsiders. And here I was about to uproot everything on a whim.

I practically fell onto my bed, still talking to myself, "He's going to let you outside now; not that, apparently, he was ever going to maim you if you ever did it before. And, if that's the case, even if you don't get a job, you could finally get a cat. And no one here even suspects anything. We could actually just LIVE. Not have to worry about anything. Stop being tired. Stop fighting." My hand slipped from my chest and hit the floor. Absentmindedly, I folded my arm inward and ran my fingers across the floorboards another me. My fingers hit a small box and it seemed to jolt me from my reverie. It was the truffle box. I pulled it from under the bed and examined it; dusty with a slight mildew smell.

Lifting the lid, I saw the fuzzy green lump just sitting there, still waiting to be eaten. "Why did I keep...?" Shit. Samson. That was the only thought I had before resuming my packing with a much faster pace.

* * *

True to his word, Alistair returned not long after noon. I had perhaps one more box to fill when he entered.

"I had a feeling I'd return to this," he said, stepping over the current box I was filling. He noticed the open truffle box on the table and reached out a finger to poke at the fuzzy ball. "Andraste's knickers, what is this thing?"

"Do NOT touch that!"

"Alright, alright!" He threw his hands up and continued to his bed, sitting heavily and making quick work of his boots. "Can I make the safe assumption that we're leaving?"

I nodded, tugging at the collar of my shirt; the air was always so much thicker when Alistair was home.

"I like the head-piece, by the way. Very pirate. You wear it well."

"That's why I'm so damned hot." I yanked the makeshift bandana from my head and picked up the truffle box, closing it and placing it gently in the last box. Then it was over. Nothing else needed packing.

"You cut your hair?" Alistair laughed. He stood and approached me, running a finger over my cheek, "All of this is gone, too."

The air got MUCH thicker.

I tried laughing him off and settled in a chair by the table. "Those two boxes and four satchels by the door are what we're taking with us. I spoke with a 'Grace' at the inn, and she traded me a storage space for six vials of potions that cure migraines."

Alistair stayed standing. "Where'd you get the potions?"

"Common weed mixed with a drop of ale and a lot of water. So the rest of our things will be there until we can send for them. I figured we would need to resettle before lugging all of this around with us."

"With what happened in Kirkwall, she didn't think to ask where you learned to make the things?"

"More than mages use potions." I paused before adding, "She DID dump a bucket of water over my head, though. Said it was a fool-proof way to tell if someone was a mage."

"How?"

"Apparently, mages melt in the water."

"Fine and dandy. But why are you bringing that fuzzy green thing?"

"That's for Samson," I said lightly.

"Well, Tarsh down at the docks said he could get passage to pretty much anywhere. By the way, he finally told me the name of this place. Flyman's Cove. Such a simple name. So... where exactly are we going?"

"Just know that you can say 'no.' You don't have to go with me."

"Yeah, I know, but all of my stuff's packed now so I kind of don't have a choice. Where are we going?"

"Kirkwall."

"Huh. Kirkwall? Lovely. Tell me, how exactly does one go about kissing their arse goodbye?"

"I said you didn't have to go."

He let out a long sigh, taking the seat across the table from me. "I'm in. Just tell me why we're going back."

"I need to survey the land. I have an idea of something I want to do, but I need to go back and see to something first."

"Can I know what the idea is?"

I bit my tongue. It sounded all so wonderful in my head, but to formulate the words and say them out loud made the idea look like something a child drew with colored wax. "I want to make a haven. Some sort of meeting ground for displaced mages and sympathizers. Someplace they can find a bit of solace before we try to find them more permanent housing. A place to offer protection, even if just for a little bit."

Alistair rose and, for the second time that day, I found him kneeling before me. Holding my hands, he placed a kiss upon them both in turn before giving them a squeeze and standing again. "I'm putting on some tea. Something relaxing. If we're about to storm the gates of the last place in Thedas we should be, we'll need our energy."

I spared a glance at the box that held the last truffle, hoping we wouldn't have to be in Kirkwall for long.

* * *

[Coming up next]

"That can't be Fenris!"

Varric elbowed me in my side, almost knocking the wind out of me, and snapped, "Quiet! You're gonna ruin everything we've done!"

I wasn't going to be able to hold my crouching position much longer, and the thought of Alistair meeting the same fate of the elf in front of us made my stomach tighten to the point of regurgitation.

"Andraste's naked ass and tits," Varric groaned, scooting away from the bile now residing on the floor. "Pull it together, Blondie," he whispered. "You're stronger than that."

Forcefully willing myself to calm down, I peeked back over the windowsill, seeing a new figure emerging from the thickets.

Sebastian strode to the makeshift gallows, unceremoniously kicking the stool out from under Fenris' feet.

I shut my eyes and ducked back under the sill, suppressing a gasp.

Varric's eyes stayed on me. "Fenris?"

I just nodded.

"Shit… Shit." He rubbed a hand over his face, an angry heat beginning to emanate from his small form. "I didn't think Sebastian would kill the elf. Shit."

We sat quietly for a moment before another voice came from outside. "Wait, Sebastian! I want this one."

Varric and I exchanged confused glances before we both peeked outside.

"Shit" was becoming the only word in Varric's vocabulary. But, watching Hawke stride towards Alistair, I found it was the only word I could say as well.

* * *

A/N: Holy crap, I've got subscribers! Hopefully you'll still hang around after a pretty wordy chapter. Now that 95% of the background's out of the way, it'll go faster.


	3. Chapter 2: Coastal Hanging

A/N: I'm Team Samson all the way. Just wanted to put that out there. He's my favorite character in the whole series, even though the game barely scratched the surface with him.

Went ahead and upped it to "M". Very mild M/M this go round. God help you on the next ride.

Untitled Dragon, Stephanie B: Thank you greatly :)

*COWSARECOOL was handed to me by the beta gods. (so don't tell her that I'm posting this with her only having read the first 8 pages)

**(7-5-12: I'm never posting without full beta consent from CAC again! Thankfully, you all seem intelligent enough to decipher one or two, uh... "errors" I might have made... All's been cleaned up!)

* * *

Chapter 2: Coastal Hanging

* * *

It was regrettable that I had not forced my way out of the house sooner; I would have liked to see Alistair forge all the relationships he seemed to now have. Though I had to get used to everyone calling him Gethin and being introduced as Laddie. I inwardly swore I'd somehow get him back in his sleep for that.

We carted our belongings down to Grace at the only inn, returned the wagon to the crotchety old man (who I could've sworn had less teeth than the day before), and made our way down the muddy path to the docks.

Several times I thought I felt Alistair's hand brush mine a bit purposefully, but I was too nervous thinking about what we were about to do to even pay much attention to it.

"There he is. Tarsh!" Alistair broke into a jog, the two satchels on his back whipping back and forth and he tried not to spill the contents out of the box he carried.

"Oi, Gethin!" A short, bald, toothless man swatted Alistair's back and led him towards, what I could assume, was an actually large, well-crafted fishing boat. "Figured out where ye goin', then?"

"Kirkwall." Alistair turned to me and gestured to follow him up the plank to boat. "I really appreciate—"

Tarsh shot out an arm to block Alistair's way. "Sorry, son. Kirkwall be out of the question."

"But—"

"Ain't no ship or man gettin' in there. I dunno if anyone can even leave. Ye 'eard what happened there, eh?"

"Uh," Alistair cleared his throat and shifted slightly. "I heard a bit, yeah."

"It's been two months," I spoke up, "Give or take a bit. Is it really still that bad there?"

Tarsh nodded. "Why would you lads need to be goin' there anyway?"

Before Alistair could choke on his nerves, I said, "We had family there and we haven't heard from them since the incident, so we wanted to go check on them."

"Oh, lad, I'm sorry. Hopefully no mages got to 'em. I can take ye anywhere but there."

"Ostagar."

Tarsh and I both froze and looked at Alistair incredulously.

"Can you get us close to Ostagar?"

"Gethin, when I said I can get ye anywhere, I meant someplace that wouldn't take a month te reach."

"I'll pay you well." There was a firm tone that I hadn't quite caught before in Alistair's words.

"Lad, it'll be quite a few gold pieces."

"How many?"

"Fer me, the crew, the labor, time away…"

"How many gold pieces, Tarsh?"

"Twenty-five."

My eyes widened and I spared a glance at Alistair, who was already opening his money pouch. _There's no way we have that amount of money…_

One by one, Alistair placed the gold into Tarsh's stubby hand until a small shining hill was created. "Twenty-five gold pieces. When can we leave?"

The sailor obviously never thought we would be able to produce such coin on demand, as he fumbled with his words. "I—I'll, uh… I'll go wake the crew."

* * *

Watching the men prepare to set sail had me on edge. I wasn't sure how long I stared numbly and unseeing out over the water from my perch on the hull of the small ship, but it seemed endless.

Heavy footsteps approached behind me before I felt Alistair take a seat beside me on one of the crates I'd procured. "It just dawned on me that I didn't consult you about Ostagar, and I'm sorry."

I waved away his apology. "We weren't getting into Kirkwall anyway. I just wanted to check on something. I can attempt to build my little haven for mages anywhere, so why not Ostagar?"

"I went back once after the slaughter there, when I was still a Warden." He shuddered a bit. "It'll be interesting to see what's become of it."

More footfalls from behind. "Ye lads mind sharin' a room? Heh, 'room'. Shouldn't call it that; quite misleadin'. But it's big enough fer some bedrolls." Tarsh nodded for us to follow him below deck; all the way down. All the way at the end of the too-short hallway. To a closet. At least, I think it was a closet.

Alistair smiled, his appreciation genuine. "Thank you, Tarsh."

"Ha, thank YOU! We may be on the sea fer a while, but ye made it worth it!" With a cracking slap to our backs, Tarsh turned and ascended to the wonderful fresh air above deck.

The closet already had our two boxes and the satchels we'd brought with us shoved against the back wall while two bedrolls were laid out side-by-side; that was all that could fit.

"Well, we won't get cold," Alistair laughed. "Very cozy."

There was a low-hanging lantern that forced us to duck just to enter and sit upon what would be our beds for the next several weeks.

Alistair pulled the door shut behind him. "Let's talk about this haven, then. Have you mapped anything out? How will anyone know it exists?"

"Word of mouth." I sighed, resting heavily against the wall and crossing my legs to allow Alistair to do the same as he settled across from me. "Maybe scouting and finding some other mages if the mage underground is still operational in some capacity. But we're going to have to find some sympathizers who would still stand with me even now. And some people who are good with weapons; we need some form of security." My head suddenly began pounding. "But, really, I'm not quite sure how to go about it. We're obviously going to have to construct, if not a building, then… a town…" Letting out an exasperated huff, I let my head loll back and hit the wall, closing my eyes to avoid staring at the lantern.

"We have some time to think about it." Alistair cracked his neck and reclined so that our knees were touching. "Do you… Um…"

I had to chuckle as I cracked an eye open and spied him beginning to blush. "Alistair, truly, we should be far past being shy with each other. What is it?"

"Heh. Yeah. I suppose so." He rubbed his neck and asked, "Do you miss… anyone? Do you miss anyone from Kirkwall?"

I kept my grin to myself. I knew he meant "Do you miss Hawke?" but I decided to make him squirm a bit. "Well, yes, I do miss one or two folks. Sebastian—"

"He tried to kill you!"

"—is not one of them. Maker, Alistair, the interrupting is really becoming an issue."

"Sorry."

"Let's see… Fenris—"

"But…" He started to interrupt me again but bit his tongue and stayed silent.

"Fenris is another one I don't miss. Hm. I miss Varric. I kind of miss Isabela. I was never a fan of Aveline." I set out to unsettle Alistair, but, the more I spoke, the more I realized just how many friend I did NOT have back in Kirkwall. "Huh. I guess that's it. I miss Varric. You know he put me on his tab at The Hanged Man?"

Alistair made sure I was finished before opening his mouth, "That's it?"

"Well, there's Samson. I wouldn't really say I MISS him, as I actually don't know much about him outside of being an addict, a beggar, and a bad example of a mage sympathizer…although, maybe I was too hard on him, considering he sacrificed himself for me. With Samson, I just wish I could get to know him better; but I guess it's too late for that, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know about that. If anyone could weasel their way out of that mess, it was him." He shifted uncomfortably and asked again, "That's it?"

I turned the question back on him. "What about you?"

Even more uncomfortable shifting. "No. I didn't have anyone, any friends. But I suppose I didn't need anyone. I survived, at least." He reached over into one of his satchels and dug around in it before ripping open another one and continuing to search for something like a mad dog.

"It's not in there," I said calmly.

Alistair froze and slowly turned his gaze to me. "You don't even know what I'm looking for."

"Your flask. I left it."

"Right. You left it on the table. I packed it on the way out."

"Right. And I dug it out of your pack and left it at the inn."

"Why would you do that to me?"

"I would rather you be angry than watch you drink yourself to death. If I'm to watch your die, let it be solely by the taint and not a bloody drink."

Alistair stared at me almost uncomfortably hard for too long. His pout that could rival a puppy's was absent, which had me uneasy, and was replaced with a frown that seemed to say he was deciding in what way to end me.

I could never find another way to describe the atmosphere when Alistair was in close proximity than to use the word "thick." Sweat would suddenly pop up all over my body, my breathing would hitch subtly, and my left eye would have the faintest twitch.

But the way he looked at me then, I felt somewhat like a rabbit cornered by a fox hound.

"You would stay with me that long?" He murmured, slightly biting.

With seven words, he had somehow thrown me off kilter. "Um... Pardon?"

When he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, I realized he wasn't trying to choose my fate, but was rather studying me, seeing how truthful I was going to be with my answer to what was apparently a loaded question. "You would stay with me that long? To see my end? To see me throw myself to the Deep Roads only to become a creature of nightmares and despair? You would be able to stomach leading me down a hateful path only to realize you yourself will meet the same fangs of death not long after?"

_Yes. Maker, help me, it's Duncan all over again. Yes, Alistair, I'll follow you. I'll watch you walk that path and I'll mourn and grieve, not for my own end soon-after, but for the loss of your presence in my __life, _is what I thought. What I said was, "You planning on this happening anytime soon? Perhaps if you give that same speech to Sebastian, he'll leave us alone and just wait 'til we two are no more than spitting and hissing darkspawn. Although, some of them talk. Did you ever meet the talking ones? I think I'd like to be one that could talk."

I'd never made a habit of kicking mabari, but I had a strong feeling that Alistair was a pretty close embodiment of what the put-upon creature would look like. A soft whimper left him as he seemed to cave-in on himself, his shoulders slumping and his intense gaze melting into a pout, his eyes cast downward and his ears turning red. And, like a put-upon mabari, I wanted nothing more than to engulf him in my arms and run my fingers through his hair, whispering that it was okay, that I didn't mean to hurt him, and that I was there and everything would be just fine.

Of course, none of that happened. We sat almost stock-still, Alistair staring at the floor and I staring at Alistair each assessing the other in our own way.

"Maybe," I ventured, "we shouldn't ask anything of each other. We're apparently still clinging to pseudo-vows we made to Duncan ages ago, not even knowing to what we were agreeing. Yet, somehow, we're still blindly trying to uphold some end of some agreement we don't rightfully understand. Now look at us."

"I won't agree to that," Alistair snapped. "Where we are now has NOTHING to do with Duncan. You know damn well, as do I, that Duncan's hold on us is not that great, despite what we've tried to force ourselves to believe. I walked away from the Wardens; I certainly could have walked away from you if I had wished."

Damn him, he was right. I knew what he was going to say before the words even hit the space between us and settled, ready to mock whatever half-ass reasoning I was about to spew. So I stayed silent, wanting to see if he would continue.

Alistair ran a hand over his face and back to his neck. "I almost turned you in, Anders. Three times. The first time was our second day on Flyman's Cove when you hurled a fireball at me because of our first argument about you going outside. When I stormed away, saying I was going to look for work, I was really going to send word to Sebastian that I wanted to trade your life for mine. You just... you just weren't worth the hassle."

At that, I felt as though he punched me in the gut and a lump formed in my throat. It was exactly how I felt about myself.

"Then," he went on, "I remembered some of what Duncan told me of your life in the circle. I remembered him mentioning how they would place you in solitary confinement, what the Templars would do to you..." His voice dropped to new depths of low, as it was often want to do, "I was almost one of them. I was almost one of those... I could've become a monster that watched you. I decided to take our circumstances as a second chance. Duncan had saved me from becoming one of those bastards, but I wasted my life as a Warden. I felt being your protector would be like scraping for redemption, perhaps even reaching it.

"The second time was about a week later, when you first started complaining about how bored you were. There was more arguing, obviously, but that was when I decided to start getting things for you to do. I mean, it was only fair, I thought. If you're to be cooped up all day, of course you should have something to do. I always noticed your hands, how strong they seemed, how long your fingers were, how much care you'd take when picking and caring for anything, even a mug of ale in The Hanged Man. I thought you'd latch-on to the pottery wheel immediately; you did. That poor salesman—he had no idea what he was in for when I approached him. I had to have that pottery wheel for you." He chuckled softly. "Spent almost an hour trying to talk him down; he was just asking far too much. I spent so much time with him that I got home rather late that night. You... well, you started yelling at me as soon as I got home."

_I remember that,_ I thought. _I was petrified someone had recognized you and brought you to Sebastian or back to Kirkwall. I was just relived to see you. I was just so worried._

Alistair didn't stop. "I left the wheel outside, obviously not giving it to you then. The next day, I was going to turn you in again. I was passing one of the shops and there was a dog in the window. It looked miserable. It was a simple image, but it made me think of you again. I was keeping you like a pet, like a dog. I went to work and didn't think anymore of turning you over. That was the night I got home early and gave you the wheel." He offered me a small smile. "Our cups and bowls were never the same. And that vase was quite interesting, too."

Barely taking a breath, he spoke of the third instance. "Finally, two days ago, I felt the urge again. I walked into the house, you asked me for the thousand and one time what the name of the island was, and then told me to shut up and went on another subtle rampage. When I went to bed, when you offered for me to just turn you in... I don't know what I felt. I know I told you I would never do such a thing, but it was so tempting— to not have to constantly look over my shoulder, to have to want for naught for the rest of my days." He looked me in the eyes, his tone even, confident. "But when you put your hands on me... your lips on me... I knew I was done for. I knew I was going to follow you through whatever fate you decided upon. I—"

"Don't say it, Alistair." Maker, help me, there were tears threatening to march down my face and pool on my lap as a reminder of weakness, of all the shit I had almost unwittingly put this man through. How had I not seen any of it before? Or had I? I wasn't even sure.

"I wanted you, Anders. I've never wanted another man like that before. Even through all the hero worship with Duncan, there was never that burning in my gut. I would have done anything Duncan asked, yes, but for you? For you I'd take on the void. I'd take on any creature from the fade. I'd gladly march to the Deep Roads now. No obligation to anyone has kept me here."

My heart was breaking at words that should have had me joyous. "Why did you call Duncan's name?" The words were choked, hinting at bitterness. "When I was touching you, kissing you, why was it his name you called?"

Alistair shook his head sadly. "I wasn't calling for Duncan. I was asking forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?"

"Forgiveness for waiting so long to seek you out. Forgiveness for living for years next to you but never with you. For drinking myself into a drunken stupor over the Wardens, and the Hero, and ignoring you. Forgiveness for seeing clearly how Hawke was and never intervening. For knowing... for knowing you needed someone and never caring. For knowing I could have helped you, maybe even... found another way to help the mages... For never asking for YOUR forgiveness." His hand rested on the back of my neck, pulling me to him so that our foreheads rested against one another. "Forgive me, Anders, please, forgive me."

Quiet though the tears may have been, they still sprung forth relentlessly. "Alistair..."

"Forgive me for not telling you how much I love you sooner."

I still could not shake the belief that Duncan was the foundation of what Alistair and I were building, and there was no way of knowing if that was enough. If Kirkwall was any sign, one of us was not going to make it to the end of whatever venture it was in which we were now investing, but…but he was so close and so warm, and the steady stream of breath that was now hitting my face had a way of making the closet feel like a sanctuary.

Alistair was still, his eyes closed, just resting in the moment. "Please forgive me, Anders."

I placed my hands on either side of his face and stroked his cheeks with my thumbs. "If there's something for which you so strongly feel you need my forgiveness, then it is I should apologize to you; for you've done far too much for me, Alistair. So much more than I could deserve, certainly."

We had run out of words. Between our recent talk of Duncan and Alistair's confessions just now, what more even needed to be voiced?

His lips were so soft, but his kiss was firm, as if he was trying to convince himself that our actions were indeed happening. I left my thumbs to keep stroking his cheeks, and, admittedly, to keep him in place. If he were to pull away now I'd break apart.

Something that was not any form of magic sparked amidst the kisses we were bestowing upon one another. It was a vow, a promise, something much more binding than anything we had with Duncan.

I left my hands slide up to grip his hair as I lay down and stretched out, pulling him firmly on top of me. I needed his weight upon my frame to believe he was truly wanting all of which he spoke. I didn't need to know he wanted me physically; I needed to know he wanted me to stay beside him.

We pressed for nothing more than our lips and tongues dancing and dueling, sometimes painfully slow and chaste, sometimes so forceful as to pull grunts and moans that caught in our throats and never slipped past the seal of our lips.

I've no way of knowing how long we stayed that way; we eventually found ourselves curled together my head nuzzled in the crook of his neck, reveling in the pulse next to me.

For the moment, the burning in our guts was sated. This was not about some rut in a dark corner. This was never about sharing a bed. It was about sharing a life and a goal.

But, I'll admit, there was nothing like his kisses.

* * *

"Shit."

"Hm?" Waking up to curses was never a good omen. Alistair was on his knees, unsuccessfully trying to push the door open. "What's going on?" I crawled next to him and tried pushing on the door. Nothing happened. "It's locked from the outside?"

"We would appear to be, oh, what's the proper word for this? Fucked?" He lightly banged his head against the door. "I KNEW I shouldn't have asked the name of the town. I knew that was going to give us away."

"You don't really think Tarsh did this? Why?"

"Remember how you told me that I could just turn you into Sebastian and live out my life as a well-off man? I believe Tarsh will now be well-off."

I held up my hands as if to fend off all the bad thoughts racing towards me. "Wait, wait, we're jumping to serious conclusions here. What if one of the deck hands didn't realize we were in here and had a very innocent reason for locking the door from the other side?"

"Alright, well, if that's the case, Tarsh will start to wonder why he hasn't seen us in a few days. But, if we're really trapped down here…"

Laying back on the bedroll, I wrapped an arm around Alistair's shoulders and pulled him with me.

"We can't yell for help," he continued. "What if the boat was over-taken by pirates or Starkhaven accomplices? Yelling would just give us away…"

I kissed his temple.

Chuckling, he turned his head to face me. "You seem calm."

"We're locked in a closet in the bottom of a fishing boat that you think could quite possibly have Sebastian's men on board. I don't think it's going to do me any good to start emitting lightening and freezing the walls." I left out the fact that I actually held no anxiety because I felt safe with him; I didn't want to saddle him with any more pressure than I'm sure he was already putting on himself; couple that with the fact that I was still sorting through the ins and outs of whatever kind of relationship he and I now had.

"You know, this is going to be a wonderful story to tell our six cats one day."

I laughed despite myself. "You've already got us settled and with six cats? I thought you didn't even like cats?"

"I somehow like the idea of a Circle fugitive/Grey Warden/apostate/Chantry-destroyer with a bunch of cats at his feet, like some sort of fuzzy, mage-avenging army."

I nuzzled into the crook of his neck again. I liked it there; it felt like the safest place.

"If you could have any life," Alistair asked quietly, his arms wrapping around me, "what would it be?"

"You mean it's not enough to just wish for an army of cats?" I chuckled. "Hm. I think I'd like to live in a town like Lothering. We'd have a house big enough for us, two kids, and that fuzzy army."

" 'We?'" I could feel Alistair smiling without even seeing his face. "'Us?'"

"Of course. We'd live over a bakery that I ran, making truffles and cheese puffs. You would have your own shop where you'd make the finest hand-carved furniture available in Thedas. Our children would have the best tutors our earnings could afford, and they would learn of everything and be held back from naught. They would understand that no person can be placed in a box; the world should be free for all people. They would understand love just from watching us. And we would grow old together, spoiling our grandchildren whenever possible. We would pass on knowing the best things life has to offer."

"That sounds... perfect, actually. I wish I could promise that to you."

"You needn't promise me anything," I said quickly. "I don't think you understand all you've already done."

We lay quietly for long hours, arms wrapped around each other, drifting in and out of sleep, lips finding each other now and then.

Being locked in a cramped, warm space began taking its toll. Alistair had become more and more adventurous, his kisses more insistent, his tongue demanding entry, his hands more confident in their explorations of my body. I knew once we opened the door to kissing, Alistair's over-eager personality would come stumbling forward and I was all too eager to catch it.

I was a bit surprised when he yanked my shirt over my head with no warning, even more surprised when he maneuvered my hips upwards and pulled down my pants and my small clothes. Comprehension of why I could only describe the air as "thick" when with the man finally came upon me; it was desire. And not just on my part. The look of absolute want and lust that in his eyes hit me and stole my breath, causing my arousal almost instantly.

Alistair's hands rested flat on my chest and traveled downward painstakingly slow, as if he were mapping out a course and dedicating it to memory, but I was too turned-on the even watch him.

My eyes snapped shut as I tried to steady my breathing. He was so close to where I needed him to be, but, of course, he was ignoring it completely. But I couldn't rush him. He needed to go at his own pace…or so I thought.

His fingers continued to trail down my thighs to my knees, gripping and pushing them apart, but he made no other move.

I spared an open eye, hoping all was okay. Alistair met my gaze and held it, a teasing grin slowly spreading across his face. He leaned down much too swiftly, his tongue traveling down my cock, his eyes refusing to let me look away.

I don't know why I thought he was inexperienced; he was very far from it. My hands immediately went from tangling in the bedroll to tangling in his hair, trying not to grip too roughly. My hips were being pressed down firmly by large hands, but they tried bucking into the warm heat of the man's mouth regardless, seeking release or, at the very least, more pressure.

Maker, it had been too long.

My grip on his hair tightened as his tongue traveled up and down my length, flicking and sucking the tip before slowly licking downward again; it was simultaneously not enough and too much. I needed his hands, I needed the heat of his mouth…I just needed more. More of him. More of anything he could give me.

Apparently I was keeping none of it to myself, either. Alistair stopped his motions and stroked my cheek. "What is it?" he murmured, that lustful smile still tugging at his lips. "What do you want?"

I could only groan an incomprehensible string of words, which drew a chuckle from Alistair. "What was that?"

"Maker, Alistair, please!"

"Just say it."

"Dammit, Alistair, I need you to suck my cock, ple—" My rant dissolved into a long moan as I was finally engulfed in the warm, wet heat I was so desperately craving.

He flattened his tongue and let it run along the underside of my cock as his head bobbed up and down, sucking as he did so.

My climax was coming much too quickly and his name began falling from my lips like a prayer. There was no Maker or Andraste. Only Alistair.

It was finally too much. I cried my release and watched as Alistair continued suckling my arousal and swallowing my seed even as I began softening.

Sweat-covered and spent, I welcomed the weight of his body next to me, his arms pulling me to his still-clothed form. The last thing I remember before slipping into a dreamless sleep was a kiss to my temple.

* * *

I was used to waking up to chaos, which was a fact for which I didn't particularly care. Alistair's voice sounded far away as he begged me to wake up and violently shook me from my sleep.

"There's far too much commotion going on up there," he explained as he yanked me up into a sitting position and threw my shirt at me before leaning his ear against the door and trying to make sense of the shouts from above us.

I wiggled around and got my pants back on, hoping he was just being paranoid. We had been locked up for what might have been, at the most, two days, and my wish was that we were stopping for supplies. Though, for all the supplies Tarsh had stocked the boat with initially...

The reality of our situation felt like being doused with a bucket of ice water.

"Give me the key!" Sebastian; I knew his voice anywhere, and he was at the end of the hall leading to our door.

"Look at me!" Alistair held my face in his hands, panic evident in his form. "He's going to have a Templar with him. The moment he opens that door, attack them and run. Promise me."

"What of you?"

"I'll be right behind you."

"No, you won't, Alistair. If I shoot them and run and it doesn't kill them, there's no guarantee you'll be behind me."

The sounds of a key turning in the lock infiltrated our tight quarters.

Alistair pulled me roughly to him, our kiss swift. "Run, Anders. Stay safe."

A crackling of lightening lit up the small space as the door opened and Sebastian was flung backwards to the floor; I wasted no time in my attack.

Alistair was right in assuming a Templar would indeed be there to attempt to drain my mana, but in all the residual smoke from the lightening and Sebastian's uncharacteristic curses, the Templar completely looked over me.

I heard one more ragged, "Promise me," before I did as he begged. I ran. Through the smoke, past the Templar aiming for Alistair, over a still stunned Prince, straight up the two flights of stairs to the deck above. Pausing only momentarily to look around, I spotted the beautiful sight of land to the east and leaped over the railing, plunging into the icy depths of the sea.

My heart was threatening to tear open my chest, even as I emerged and began hastily swimming to shore, trying to ignore the sound of arrows swishing by me. I was going to be shot. Holding my breath, I ducked back underwater. The cover of night helped somewhat, but Sebastian was one of the best. I knew it was his arrow that landed firmly in my right shoulder when I came up for air. I bit my lower lip until it bled, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a cry of pain; I'd have rather been made tranquil at that moment.

"The town drunk, Anders?" Sebastian's voice boomed through the open air, echoing back through night's darkness and hitting my ears with a smack. "Have you really stooped so low? Though, even Alistair here must have higher standards than you. What spell did you weave over him? Perhaps I should revisit my days of youth and bed you myself, for surely your skills must rival the finest of whores for you to be able to land ANY man!" His declaration was punctuated with an arrow that found my left thigh.

_I'm going to die,_ I inwardly chanted as I continued to swim towards the security of the visible beach.

I knew from all my years of going into all kinds of battle that, when in the moment, pain can become a secondary feeling. It can be completely ignored. Physically, I pushed through the ache in my shoulder and the throbbing in my leg. But I could not push through the mental pain. When I knew I was too far for even Sebastian to risk another shot in the dark, I turned back to the small boat. Saddled-up next to it was a Starkhaven ship.

Alistair was right once again: Tarsh was going to be a very well-off man.

I waded in the freezing water for a moment, torn between swimming back and bargaining for Alistair's life with my own and continuing on as I had promised.

No matter what, I was looking at bleak outcomes, but the lesser of the two evils was continuing to shore and trying to regroup. If I returned, Sebastian was likely to string me up and force me to watch as he gutted Alistair. Oh, and I was bleeding out rather quickly.

The groan that escaped me as I pulled myself onto land sounded as if it came from someone else. I wanted to roll onto my back, but there was the issue of the arrows protruding from my flesh. I couldn't even reach to remove them so I could heal myself. "I'm going to die," I moaned again, forcing myself to all fours in an attempt to stand.

"Perhaps." A sword's tip was placed at the back of my neck, forcing me to stay on the ground like a dog. "Name?" I recognized the voice, but I just couldn't place it.

"Perhaps you'd rather skip my name and know that I'm an enemy of Sebastian Vael."

"Truly?"

Another voice sounded somewhere off to the side. "That would explain washin' up on the beach after swimmin' away from Chantry Boy's ship and lookin' like a stuck pin cushion."

Now that voice I knew. "Varric?"

Silence. "Blondie?" The dwarf hastily made his way to me and squatted, lifting my head. "I'll be a nug's uncle... Cullen, put that thing away! Help him up!"

The sword was removed and I was all-too easily scooped up. Cullen wrapped my left arm around his shoulders and, without a word, began to follow Varric up a very familiar looking path that cut-through a very familiar cliff-side.

"This is the Wounded Coast, isn't it?" I asked, trying to take in as much as I could in the dim moonlight.

"The one and only," Varric replied. "Pretty apropos, isn't it? But we'll have time to talk when we reach our base."

I was very appreciative of Cullen seeming to take extra care of not bumping my wounded thigh as he supported all of my weight; so appreciative, in fact, that I didn't dare question why a man, who only a short time ago, would have been in a pissing match with Fenris over who would run me through first, was now helping me with no argument.

The walk around the coast was far too long. Despite Cullen's strong grip, I was hopping on one leg and the blood-loss was taking its toll.

"Cullen. Cullen, stop. I'm not going to make it."

"If I remove the arrows, can you heal yourself?"

"Yes, yes, just hurry, please."

Cullen helped me to lie down and took off one of his bracers, which he shoved in my mouth, "So you don't scream and alert everyone to our location," before applying pressure around each wound in turn and, most crudely, yanking the arrows from me. Needless to say, Cullen did the right thing in shoving the leather in my mouth as I would've sounded quite an alarm.

Concentrating, I willed a steady flow of magic to my wounds, healing them enough to allow me to continue and not garner an infection. I let Cullen help me to my feet again and we pressed forward.

Varric brought us to a spread of the Wounded Coast with which I was not familiar and stopped when we reached a grouping of five small shacks settled in a nest of sparse trees and thickets. "Welcome to the Anti-Hawke Brigade! Currently there are only nine of us, but we make do. Cullen, go tell the others Vael's off the southern coast. Blondie, follow me." He led me into the first shack and settled on a cot, gesturing for me to simply take a seat on the floor. "How the shit did you find yourself washed-up and shot?"

Settling against the wall, I spared a glance around the small room. The cot was the only piece of furniture. A stuffed satchel sat by the door, but that was all. "Samson dragged me away from the battle," I replied a bit stiffly. "Alistair brought me away from Kirkwall in a frigate that I think he stole. Apparently we didn't make it too far before we crashed onto Flyman's Cove."

"Flyman's Cove? That's just a day out from Lowtown! You mean to tell me you've been under our noses this entire time?"

"You mean to tell me you've been actively seeking me?"

"All of Thedas has been actively seeking you!" The dwarf rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck and I could tell he was fighting with how much emotion he was willing to show with me. "Blondie, Anders... Things are shit. You ran and left innocent bystanders behind to pick up the pieces. Well, we've picked up as much as we could, but no one seems to know how to put it back together."

I allowed some of the tenseness in my form to slip away; Varric didn't _appear_ to be out to slay me. "That's why we came back. Normally two months is nothing, but, in this case, it was a lifetime. We should have never left."

"Who's we?"

"Alistiar and I."

"That drunk who was always squawkin' about bein' a king?"

"The one and only. Sebastian still has him."

Varris furrowed his brow and eyed me appraisingly. "Is this Alistair someone we're goin' to have to rescue?"

"Varric, I floated on to the coast after running from blowing-up the Chantry and starting a war. I'm not asking you for anything."

The dwarf chuckled slightly. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm going to save him. Whether or not you and your 'brigade' want to aide me is entirely up to you."

"Hm." Varric thoughtfully ran a hand over his chin. "Tell you what: I'll help you if you help me."

"What could I possibly do for you?"

"Like I said, everything went to shit after what you started. Sebastian didn't hang around; that nug-humper went off to get an army to hunt you. But here at home, things escalated far past being a blood-bath. We lost a lot of people, a lot of friends, but we also lost Orsino and that bitch Meredith."

"Meredith and Orsino were killed?"

"At Hawke's hands. But that's not the best part. Afterward, Cullen wanted to send out warnings across the whole of Thedas that immediate steps needed to be taken to prevent the slaying of mages and to suppress any other uprisings. He insisted we revoke the Right of Annulment, so Hawke tried to kill him."

I felt a bit sick.

"He's lost his mind, Blondie. But, for whatever reason, I think you can talk him down."

It took me a moment to find my voice. "T-Talk him down off of what, exactly?"

Varric hopped off of his cot and began pacing. "He's taken over Kirkwall."

"How...?"

"He was the Champion. He had witnesses to his supposed great acts of bravery. Which, let's be honest: He did some amazing shit. But the people didn't see what he _really_ did, which was lose his damn mind and run through anyone who stepped up to him."

My mind felt as though it were melting and trying to drip from my very ears. "Varric, none of this makes any sense! How in Andraste's name could he even assume rule?"

"It wasn't that hard. There was no Viscount, no Orsino, no Meredith, and there were enough witnesses to say that Meredith had indeed gone bat-shit and Hawke stopped her. The problem was that there were also enough witnesses to Orsino stooping to a bit of blood magic, which means when Cullen had a bit of a moral crisis and wanted to stop the slaughter of the mages, he had no backing."

"Maker, take me..."

"I'll explain it better after you tell me how—"

Cullen all but knocked the door over, his face set in determination, "They've got Fenris and they're almost upon us!"

Varric readied Bianca and knelt opposite my side of the window. "We'll watch from here. Go ready Samson and Moira."

My ears perked up. "Samson's here?"

Both men ignored me as Cullen slammed the door behind him.

From down the pathway we used to reach the small makeshift settlement came five soldiers in Starkhaven garb. The two men in front led Alistair between them while the two behind them were dragging a beaten form covered in blood and filth. Whereas Alistair's hands were tied behind him securely, the other man's were left to dangle, revealing that there were indeed no hands there but rather bloody, pulpy stumps.

The fifth man was carrying rope and two stools. He placed the stools about two meters apart near trees not far from mine and Varric's obvious hiding place. Nooses resided at the end of the ropes he slung over the trees by which he placed the stools, and the intent of this small troupe was made all too clear.

Without putting up a fight, Alistair stepped upon the first stool, allowing the rope to rest loosely around his neck.

As weak as he was, the second man appeared to be fighting and mumbling curses as he was forced upon the stool, shaking his head to try to fend away the noose from wrapping itself around him. It took me a few moments, but, in the darkness and through the filth, I could make out that mop of white hair and the drooping ears.

"That can't be Fenris!"

Varric elbowed me in my side, almost knocking the wind out of me, and snapped, "Quiet! You're gonna ruin everything we've done!"

"Everything you've done? They know where you are and they've got one of your men!"

"Shut up, Anders!"

Disbelief danced around Fenris' frail form, daring me to believe that the once fearful warrior barely had enough strength to fend off a couple of men not even bothering to unsheathe their weapons. And his hands... I stared at the stumps and let my eyes travel up his wrists and arms. There were patterns cut out of his skin up to his elbows, hardened strips of dead lyrium hanging grotesquely from his forearms.

I wasn't going to be able to hold my crouching position much longer, and the thought of Alistair meeting such a fate as the elf in front of us made my stomach tighten to the point of regurgitation.

"Andraste's naked ass and tits," Varric groaned, scooting away from the bile now residing on the floor. "Pull it together, Blondie," he whispered. "You're stronger than that."

Forcefully willing myself to calm down, I peeked back over the windowsill, seeing a new figure emerging from the thickets.

Sebastian strode to the makeshift gallows, unceremoniously kicking the stool out from under Fenris' feet.

I shut my eyes and ducked back under the sill, suppressing a gasp.

Varric's eyes stayed on me. "Fenris?"

I just nodded.

"Shit… Shit." He rubbed a hand over his face, an angry heat beginning to emanate from his small form. "I didn't think Sebastian would kill the elf. Shit."

We sat quietly for a moment before another voice came from outside. "Wait, Sebastian! I want this one."

Varric and I exchanged confused glances before we both peeked outside.

"Shit" was becoming the only word in Varric's vocabulary. But, watching Hawke stride towards Alistair, I found it was the only one I could say as well.

There was a multitude of anger in my harsh whisper of "Just shoot them!" to Varric.

The dwarf could only shake his head sadly. "It's not the simple. We need them alive."

"And you didn't need Fenris alive?"

"You ran, Blondie; you don't get to show up and start handing out judgments like you're about to blow us up, alright?"

He was right and it only stoked my anger further.

"Let's not stir the pot too much, Sebastian," Garrett said lightly, as if someone were speaking of the weather. "There are other things we want from them. Let Fenris serve as a warning: Death is a very real possibility. But this one..." I glanced over the sill to see Alistair flinch as Hawke ran a finger down his cheek. "I've heard a few rumors and I'd like to see if they're true. Let's go have fun. They'll come running to us in no time." Garrett removed the noose from Alistair's neck and helped him down from the stool, gripping his neck tightly and leading him away.

Sebastian walked a bit further into the camp, taking a deep breath and uttering a short prayer before turning tail and following up Hawke and the guards.

Like a flash, Cullen and a woman I did not recognize were cutting Fenris down, gently laying him on the ground and checking for a pulse.

There was a small spark within my gut that made me shoot to my feet and race to the unmoving body.

The woman eyed me warily as I knelt over the elf. "Who is he?"

Cullen ignored her and looked to me, "Can you help?"

My hands lay flat against Fenris' chest, sensing the fading rhythm of a heartbeat. "It didn't break his neck and he's not dead. Give me room." I said quietly and as quickly as I could. His neck was bruised his vocal chords slightly crushed, but that was not vital. There were broken ribs, a pierced lung, a hip and shoulder out of place, open wounds and knife cuts across his legs and chest. One section at a time I healed him as best as I could, my mana leaving me in large amounts until I could barely keep my head up and my eyes were closing of their own accord.

A hand was placed on my shoulder, a tentative, "Blondie?" asking just how much longer I could even last.

It wasn't a perfect job, but it would keep him alive. He was unconscious, bruised, his hands were completely lost, and I couldn't muster the strength to work on his throat. "He'll live," I managed to choked out before my vision went black.

* * *

Next time...

* * *

It was then that I came to the conclusion that Keran was going to be the death of me.

The boy gripped the bars tightly, but I could see he was slipping.

"It'll take too long for me to reach you; just let go and I'll catch you."

"Are you daft?" Keran cried, his hands trying to reach a more secure holding.

"Keran, you annoying little pissant, if you don't let go of those bars and let me attempt to catch you, I'll shoot your eyebrows off! I've done it before, I can do it again!"

The familiar head of white peeked out over the edge of the roof as mine and Fenris' eyes met, the elf waiving his stumps in a gesture for me to tell Keran to look up.

"Keran! Fenris is right above you; grab his... you know."

Fenris rolled his eyes and let his forearms dangle as close to the Templar as he could.

Keran was quick, I'll give him that, but I was truly starting to doubt the amount of common sense with which he traveled. He quickly reached upwards to grab a hold of Fenris, but the boy made a rather bad calculation. Instead of focusing his grip on the whole of the elf's arms, he gripped the slightly dangling lyrium veins.

Even from almost ten meters away, the moonlight reflected off of Fenris' large green orbs and I could clearly see the excruciating pain traversing from his arms to his feet and back again. His mouth flew open in a silent cry of pain— something I'm not sure any had ever before witnessed —and he shut his eyes so tightly that I'm sure he popped a vein somewhere.

"Keran, grab his whole arm, you asinine loaf!"

The boy didn't understand and Fenris gave him no time to grasp the concept. He flung himself heels over head from the roof, Keran toppling after him.

That was when I realized how wrong I was. Keran wouldn't be the death of ME; he would be the death of us ALL.


	4. Chapter 3: Shack Interlude

(Update 7/11/12) cowsarecool pointed out a few things that needed cleaning up, so 'tis done.

* * *

Chapter 3: Shack Interlude

* * *

Even behind closed eyes, the light was much too bright and I let that fact be made known with a groan and an attempt to turn over onto my stomach.

"Well, well, well, the destroyer himself is awake. Any worse for wear?"

I kept hearing voices I recognized before seeing the owner, which did not surprise me in the least considering I found myself back in Kirkwall.

"Drink this."

A canteen of water was placed in my hands and I sat up on what I could tell was a small cot, drinking the liquid greedily without even opening my eyes, something that did not go unnoticed.

"You alright, mate? Your eyes're okay?"

I forced myself to blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the midday sun. "Did the cot have to be right by the window...?"

"Heh. I can move it if you'd like."

"No, no, I'm just in the mood for complaining..." My vision finally cleared and I found myself face-to-face with the man who had been haunting my thoughts far too much. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Samson shifted on a crate that was shoved against the wall beside me, his legs stretched out before him as if he were on a chaise. "Yeah, I didn't think I was walking away from that bit of assery, either."

"'Assery'?"

Samson took the empty canteen from me and replaced it with another one. "That whole moment of insanity when I charged Sebastian. Tough fucker, that one. Thankfully I'm just a bit tougher." He winked at me and let his head fall back against the wall. "I was trying to stab him with his own arrow; piece of shit wrangled the damn thing away from me and got me in my fuckin' thigh, but not before I got a chunk out of his face with the arrowhead. Still, he was able to throw me against a wall and run. Thankfully, you and Alistair had already gotten away."

I found myself just staring at the man, the word "enigma" floating through my brain as I tried to figure him out. It was not going to happen, and I found myself blurting, "Why did you do it? We're not... friends. Or anything, really. What possessed you to throw yourself at Sebastian Vael, of all people?"

His head rolled to the side, those green eyes burning into mine. "You know nothing of me, huh? Nothing at all." From anybody else, the words might have held a stinging resonance or a feeling of detestation, but from Samson's lips they were merely amused statements. "Well, Destroyer, I've followed you from the moment you set foot in Kirkwall, and not in that 'follow you through the alleys and steal pieces of hair out of your comb' kind of way. I'm a mage sympathizer, mate. Why do you think I got kicked out of the Templars? I was smuggling mages out of the city."

"So you were okay with me blowing up the Chantry?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but I certainly understood WHY you did it. The Chantry may have been the place of peace, but it was also a building full of hypocritical fuckers. Sebastian's probably the biggest one of all. Keep wishing him and Elthina could've swapped places."

There was a comfortable silence, but I wasn't going to let that last for long. "I had something for you. It seems foolish and childish now, but the symbolism had a rather large impact on me a few days ago."

"Now, what could the mighty Destroyer have possibly had for me?"

"Well, besides absolute gratitude, I had—" I stopped myself. Why was I about to tell him I held onto a fuzzy, moldy truffle for him?

"C'mon!" There was a playful glint in his eyes. "What was it?"

"It was a, um, a... a truffle..." I coughed at the last word. I felt like a buffoon.

But instead of a sarcastic quip or a look of incredulity, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "From Madam Mickal's? You really held on to a truffle for me? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"It was to celebrate when I saw you again."

Samson turned on his crate and faced me fully, placing his hands on the cot and leaning very, very close and saying, "Thank you then, Destroyer," before suddenly jumping to his feet and heading out of the shack.

I could just watch him leave, feeling a bit as if he had been... flirting with me, perhaps? "Andraste's arse, what just happened?"

Thankfully, I wasn't left with my thoughts for much longer as Varric kicked open the door and gave me an appraising nod. "Samson says you're good. You good, Blondie?"

"Well enough."

"C'mon, then. Broody's givin' us problems."

Fenris was indeed causing a bit of a kerfuffle. I emerged from the shack to find the elf taking a swing at the woman from the previous night.

"Dammit, Elf, sit your arse down before you make it worse!"

"Ruvena," Varric shoved me forward, "let Blondie here take a stab."

Ruvena, who I recognized as a former Templar, threw her hands up in disgust. "Fucking knife ear..."

Fenris had stilled, his eyes locked with mine. He thrust his arms out and I knew exactly what he was saying: "Heal, Mage."

Although I was being met with the familiar sight of a commanding elf, something was missing. The threatening air that normally sat over his head like a black cloud was gone and there was actually something akin to pleading in his eyes.

I nodded towards the hut I had just left and asked Varric to join us.

Without being asked, Fenris laid out on the cot, his bleeding stumps resting on his stomach.

I held my hands over his form, administering another remedial dose of magic. "Fill me in, Varric. You said there are nine of you?"

"Yeah," Varric sat on Samson's crate, "half being former Templars who witnessed Meredith and Hawke turn looney. Me, Cullen, Samson, Moira, Ruvena, Keran, Donnic, and Fenris here."

"Why so few?"

"Well, see, Hawke kind of did this thing where he killed anyone who disagreed with him. And then he did this other thing where he told everyone how he, you know, saved everyone from the Arishok, showed them a dead Orsino and Meredith, and set-up a guard to make sure there were no more outbursts. He kind of earned his place. Again."

"But—"

"Hey, try to figure it out all you want. You'll wind-up drunker than Alistair ever was. Speaking of Alistair, let's talk about what we need to do. I think we can kill two nugs with one mace. Without the long hair and feathers, guards would do a double-take when you passed. Samson's able to come and go as he pleases; he wasn't at the final battle, so Hawke never put a ransom out for him. The rest of us are marked; doesn't matter what relationship we had with Hawke before...all of this." Sighing, Varric hopped off of the crate and headed to the door, his eyes staring sadly at the elf. "I'll go speak with Samson. Just do what you can."

I'll admit that I was utterly amazed at the fact that FENRIS was laying before me, still and patient, his eyes staying locked onto me but holding no malice.

"I wish I could know what happened," I said softly. "Especially since whatever happened made you not want to bite a hunk out of my neck when you saw me. You're acting calmer than you did BEFORE I blew everything to shit."

Fenris gestured out of the window with his left stump.

"Um..."

That indignant look, which he held so dear, that was reminiscent of a child about to throw a tantrum appeared as he rigidly jutted his arm towards the sky.

"Oh. The sky?"

Fenris nodded.

"Um. Something in the sky?"

More nodding sprinkled with an eye roll.

"Something—"

A head shake interrupted me and Fenris pointed at my chest.

"Some... one? Someone in the sky?"

Fenris was nodding so frantically his ears were shaking.

"Who... No. No. Hawke?"

With the name revealed, Fenris lay still again.

I said nothing afterward, focusing solely on helping the man before me. With his hands removed and the lyrium bands ripped out of his flesh from his wrists to his elbows and left to dangle, he could neither gracefully remove an enemy's heart nor simply wield a sword.

Hawke had made the living weapon unusable.

The hanging pieces were dead, but they were physically unable to be cut. I tried freezing and melting them off, but that only caused Fenris to shout non-audible curses at me. I settled on cleaning any infection from the wounds and ripping off my sleeves, wrapping them tightly around Fenris' wrists and the dead lyrium bands in order to keep the strips from flying all over the place.

After several hours and trying to go slowly as to let my mana continually replenish itself, I slumped on the crate behind me, exhausted.

Feeling well enough to stand, Fenris opened his mouth, angry that no voice flowed out even upon the most persistent tries. He stomped to the door, made angrier that he could not open it.

I was quickly by his side, pushing open the door in a show of non-pitying help, a smile that said, "You're still the ass-kicking warrior you used to be, we just have to work around this," tugging on my lips.

With a huff, Fenris stepped into the fading sunlight, stopping after a few paces to lower his head and turn back to me. His lips formed the words "Thank you" before he made his way to a small campfire in the middle of the huts.

Cullen and Varric were standing close to the entrance of the make-shift camp, peering down at Samson who was drawing a diagram in the dirt with a knife.

The dwarf saw me and waved for me to join them. "Just saw Broody walk over there. Seems, ya know, okay. Is he okay?"

"Well, it's impossible to tell his mental state," I replied a bit too clinically, "but physically he's as good as he's ever going to be. He said Hawke did it to him."

Samson growled and stabbed his knife into the earth. "We're leaving now. Anders, it'll be me, you, and Fenris will have to come to show us where he last saw Donnic and Keran; he was with them on a scouting trip when he was captured."

"Fenris stands-out from twenty meters away; why would you send him of all people on a scouting trip?"

"He was able to drift in and out of walls, remember?" Varric replied. "Really useful."

There was something about the way Varric referred to Fenris as "useful" that made my gut tighten. I'm sure Varric meant nothing by it, but it made me glance with a bit of lamentation at the downtrodden elf staring at the small fire in front of him. He had never quite gotten over his time as a slave and his feeling that his talents were all that made him worthy of life were undoubtedly still there.

Not that I cared all that much. This was still bloody FENRIS, after all.

Samson grabbed his knife, shoved it in a small sheath hidden in his booth, and strode over to Fenris, kneeling before the elf and taking the stumps in his hands.

Fenris flinched initially, but settled comfortably on the log he' claimed, seeming to listen intently to Samson's string of softly spoken words, Samson's gruff voice dipping into the rhythm of a spoken lullaby. Even I was being lulled into serenity and I couldn't even make out what the man was saying.

Samson stood in front of Fenris, who's back was to me, and when he looked up his eyes met mine for a brief moment. Standing, he gave me a quick wink before rejoining us, Fenris close on his heels.

Cullen watched as Samson adjusted the sword on his back. "You clear on what you're to do?"

"Aye," Samson nodded. "Fenris?"

Wordlessly—considering his inability to speak at the moment—Fenris brought us away from the encampment and close to where I had initially washed onto shore, shoving two small boulders aside to reveal a sewer system similar to the one leading to the Gallows Dungeon.

"Hawke hasn't discovered this one yet," Samson explained, taking a torch from the entrance and keeping us close to Fenris as the elf pounded through the mud, "but it's only a matter of time."

"Where does it exit?"

"Hightown. The old DuPuis estate. That bastard was into some nasty shit, by the way. You should see what he kept in the basement. You had any run-ins with him?"

"Just one. He killed Ser Emeric years ago, and I believe he dabbled in blood magic."

Samson shivered. "Nasty stuff."

"We left without a plan. I'm learning all too quickly how ignorant that is."

Fenris shot me a hard look over his shoulder.

"Was kind of hoping you could just let off another blast and call it a day," Samson quipped.

My intent was to cut Samson down so well that he'd never even dream of teasing me again, but when I caught a glance of that mischievous, cat-like grin and his affable eyes, my words died in my throat.

I also realized I compare everyone to animals.

Samson let a hand rest on my back for a moment before letting it fall once again by his side. "It's all in fun, Destroyer," he stated gently. "I'm glad you're back." He cleared his throat and continued, "Cullen said they'd be using Alistair as bait to get to you. Fortunately, I know exactly where Hawke would stash him and how to get in."

"Then why is Hawke still in control if everyone seems to know so much about his goings-on?"

"Did Varric already tell you it's not as simple as just stomping the fucker's head in?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Well?"

"It's not as simple as just stomping the fucker's head in."

"Maker's breath…"

"Listen, outside of Templars roaming every inch of Kirkwall, mages killed on sight, and people dying of heart attacks every time they see a shadow move, Kirkwall's peaceful! No one wants to join the Anti-Hawke party. No one. Big reason why? Captain Aveline and your little elf-girl friend have permanent residences outside of Viscount's Keep."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, Hawke personally chose the poles their heads were shoved on."

My stomach flipped and I skipped a step.

Samson lightly wrapped an arm around my shoulders and said, "I'm too crude sometimes; sorry. But rather I tell you now than you see some of this for yourself and feel like you've been slapped with a Kossith's ass. Eh, that was crude, too. Sorry."

Fenris was obviously not used to having empty space at the ends of his wrists. He looked infuriated as he attempted to open the door leading out of the sewer, but succeeded with his foot.

"Huh," Samson chuckled, "now HE'S a tough fucker."

DuPuis' estate was exactly as I remembered it: Full of death and atrocity, but nicely decorated. Samson was right about the basement though, and there were one too many instruments of torture for my liking. I'd be hard pressed to describe any of them as I found myself staring at Samson's feet in front of me until we reached the cool breeze wafting through Hightown.

Samson glanced around wearily as Fenris ducked behind a large potted plant and blended into the shadows.

"This is where we part ways," the former Templar stated. "You two find Keran and Donnic, if you can, and then go back to the sewer entrance. The second I'm sure where Alistair is Anders, I'll fetch you. 'Right?"

Fenris remained still; I nodded.

"'Right, then." Samson patted my pack once more before setting off further into what seemed to be a ghost town.

The plant shook, Fenris wanting my attention. When I met his stare, he mouthed, "de Launcet. I'll meet you," before disappearing completely into the shadows down the side of DuPuis' home.

Shrugging lightly, I made my way, hopefully inconspicuously, across Hightown to the de Launcet's.

There were just a couple of groups of guards, but they were so enraptured in their own conversations that, as long as I whistled and acted like I had every reason to be there, I easily passed them, even in my dirty trousers and sleeveless tunic.

As I approached the de Launcet's, wide blue eyes peered out of a crack as the front door was cautiously pulled open. "Donnic!" He stepped outside fully, the door shutting behind him.

How Keran could ever mistake me for Donnic is a mystery to me, but that's what happened. I chalked it up to the fact that it was getting dark and the shadows may have been playing tricks with his eyes. He exited the house quickly and took several steps towards me before realization dawned over him. "Not you..." He attempted to reenter the house, but the door jammed, refusing to open.

The boy panicked, even as I was trying quietly to calm him down. He immediately began climbing a trellis, completely overestimating how much weight the frail wooden apparatus could hold. He actually climbed pretty high before the wood started snapping underneath him.

"Keran, let go and I'll catch you!"

"No, you demon!"

"Keran, I'm with Samson and Fenris, we're here to get you!"

"Why should I believe you?" He was about to fall, for which I was hoping so that I could just catch him, but he made it just a little high before flinging himself to the right, desperately grabbing onto bars fastened over a third story window. His grip wasn't tight enough and he began slipping with nothing for his feet to rest on and help him gain leverage.

I'd only had two run-ins with the boy in my life, but I was still able to reach the conclusion that Keran was going to be the death of me. The boy gripped the bars tightly, but I could see that he was slipping too swiftly.

"It'll take too long for me to reach you; just let go and I'll catch you."

"Are you daft?" Keran cried, his hands trying to reach a more secure holding.

"Keran, you annoying little pissant, if you don't let go of those bars and let me attempt to catch you, I'll shoot your eyebrows off! I've done it before, I can do it again!"

The familiar head of white peeked out over the edge of the roof as mine and Fenris' eyes met, the elf waiving his stumps in a gesture for me to tell Keran to look up.

"Keran! Fenris is right above you; grab his... um..."

Fenris rolled his eyes and let his forearms dangle as close to the Templar as he could.

I could only imagine Keran's eyes widening as he saw the offered limbs. "Maker! What happened?"

"KERAN!"

Keran was quick, I'll give him that, but I was truly starting to doubt the amount of common sense with which he traveled. He quickly reached upwards to grab a hold of Fenris, but the boy made a rather bad calculation. Instead of focusing his grip on the whole of the elf's arms, he gripped the slightly dangling lyrium veins.

Even from almost ten meters away, the moonlight reflected off of Fenris' large green orbs and I could clearly see the excruciating pain traversing from his arms to his feet and back again. His mouth flew open in a silent cry of pain— something I'm not sure any had ever before witnessed —and he shut his eyes so tightly that I'm sure he popped a vein somewhere.

"Keran, grab his whole arm, you asinine loaf!"

The boy didn't understand and Fenris gave him no time to grasp the concept. He flung himself heels over head from the roof, Keran toppling after him. As he reached the cobblestones, a flash of protective lyrium encased them, cushioning the fall.

That was when I realized how wrong I was. Keran wouldn't be the death of ME; he would be the death of us ALL.

Immediately Keran was shoved backwards against the house, Fenris ranting and raving, waving his mutilated arms in grand theatrical gestures as if it would help convey his silent message of how reckless and stupid the boy was. The lyrium veins that had been pulled away even more from his arms occasionally smacked Keran in the face as if to emphasize the points Fenris was making that I knew full well the boy wasn't getting.

I intervened before Fenris went through with, what I assumed was, a threat of using his feet to pull Keran's balls out through his nostrils "Gentlemen, we have to go. We could get away with the shouting, but the little lyrium show is going to have Hawke's men on us shortly."

Fenris' face contorted into a scream as ran his non-existent hands through his hair in frustration. His pointed a stub at Keran before running it across his neck and stalked back to our hole in the wall, not caring if we followed or not.

"Maker, I'm an idiot." Keran was almost shaking, but most people would do the same if they were dramatically tossed to the top of Fenris' moody and finicky shit-list.

I wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and followed after Fenris before Hawke himself showed up and hacked away at us while laughing manically. "You ARE an idiot, but one that can actually swing a sword. I hope. Leave the thinking to others and you might live a bit longer, alright?"

Keran nodded, obviously not wanting to risk thinking of a retort.

As I was shoving Keran into the passage in the basement of the DuPuis' estate, Samson's hand came to rest on my shoulder, pushing me swiftly in behind the boy. "I've got good news and bad news."

I was practically being dragged by the man through the sewer, Keran jogging beside us as we caught up to Fenris, who was emitting a light lyrium glow to light our path. "What's the good news."

"Alistair's alive. They nug-tied him and shoved him on wagon to Starkhaven this morning, but he's alive."

"The bad news?"

"Hawke was waiting for me."

Fenris stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening almost humorously. Gesturing to the way we had originally come, he shook his head as if to say "Not that way."

Samson agreed. Hawke already knows to search the DuPuis home. We can't let him know it leads so close to the camp. Fenris, you know the path to where the life boat is kept?"

Not bothering to answer, Fenris brightened, literally, and made a sharp left, stomping even harder as he walked, kicking up rocks and weeds as he went, his trail quite obvious for any tracker.

The rest of us followed suite.

We made it to a small opening at the end of a rather lean hallway and, pushing some weeds aside, crawled through and emerged on an area of beach barely large enough for the four of us to stand. But, like Samson had promised, there was a boat.

Keran almost knocked Fenris over as he scrambled in, taking the seat beside the elf. Samson sat in the middle and took the oars, gesturing for me to push the small vessel out into the sea and take the seat in front of him.

We were running, again. But this time I didn't have Alistair with me. Samson quickly got us away from the coast and headed, I believe, North.

Before I could ask where he was headed, Samson tapped his boot against mine. "Where were you and Alistair headed?"

"Ostagar. Well, initially, the plan was to come to Kirkwall, but we were told that was an impossibility."

"Why the fuck would you want to come back?"

My initial response was to lie, but, finding myself on a boat for a third instance in a short span of time and running away from something, I realized speaking to Samson was the last thing about which I had to worry. So I spoke honestly, "I was coming back for _**you**_, actually."

Samson had two smiles: One that was sardonic and almost indelibly plastered to his face, and a second one that was rarely seen and full of warmth and genuine happiness and caused his eyes to shine and crinkle slightly. The second smile was small, borderline subtle, as if he was embarrassed to let it be seen.

I loved that smile. I made it my goal to draw that smile from him as often as I possibly could. It made him seem other-worldly, like he was some god bestowing a present upon me. There was almost a power in that smile that could make you feel like you were the only person in the world...

I'd been so lost in thought, so focused on that second smile, that I didn't even realize he had been speaking to me.

"Anders...?" Samson let go of one oar to wave a hand in front of my face. The second smile disappeared and the first one quickly replaced it, as always. "You 'right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm 'right— I mean, fine. I'm fine. What were you asking?"

"I was asking what I could have possibly done to deserve the honor of the Destroyer coming back solely for me?"

"Maker's breath, Samson, you threw yourself at Sebastian Vael to save me. ME. Why would I not want to come back and find out what happened to you?"

Returning to his rowing, Samson let the second smile appear again. "Well, like I said, I'm glad you're back. But I do wish you still had my truffle."

I'm sure my smile was ridiculous and lop-sided, but I couldn't prevent it.

Samson chuckled and quickly slapped my shoulder lightly. "Don't worry. We'll find more somewhere."

There was some shifting from over Samson's shoulder, and, following my gaze, he turned to find Keran passed out and leaning on Fenris, who was in the process of elbowing the boy over the side of the boat. The elf caught my gaze, held it rebelliously, and used all his strength to shove Keran into the water.

Samson actually guffawed, a word I don't think I've ever had reason to use in my life.

Luckily, Keran could swim; I was shocked. The boy pulled himself back into the small vessel, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. "Did I actually just sleep-fall out of the boat?"

"Yes," I responded. "Yes, that's exactly what happened."

Samson turned back to face me, not waiting to see Keran precariously return to sitting beside the agitated elf. "He's a good kid," he murmured. "He just hasn't found his stride yet. Once he does, once he can focus his energy, he'll be force to reckon with."

There were a few different sides to Samson other than the Dwarf dust addict, apparently.

"Hey, Anders, Samson," Keran was staring intently at Fenris, who was doing some either very sexual miming or very threatening miming, "I think he's saying to stick my head in the sea three times and pull it out twice."

Fenris nodded enthusiastically.

"Fine. But shouldn't I pull my head out THREE times?"

Fenris' ears drooped and he hung his head between his knees.

Samson chuckled again. "Hopefully we figure out a plan before the elf figures out how to strangle the boy without his hands."


	5. Chapter 4: Confessional Shores & Keran's

Chapter 4: Confessional Shores & Keran's Rabbits

* * *

I had fallen asleep sitting upright with my head propped up in my hands and found myself being awakened by Samson and Keran pushing the small rowboat to shore. I took Samson's extended hand and stepped onto the soft muddy ground, forcing myself to not drop to my knees and kiss the earth.

Samson had yet to explain how he knew where Alistair was and how he found out the man was being carted to Starkhaven, all within record time, but I was weary of pressing the issue in front of others.

Seeing as I'd dozed, I wasn't sure where we were. "How far did we make it from Kirkwall."

"Not far at all." Satisfied that his knot would keep the boat anchored to a nearby boulder, Samson sent Keran and Fenris off to find food, feeling the need to add, "Fenris can still track, no matter what's happened to him."

I watched Fenris attempt to trip Keran— the boy gracefully skipped over it, I might add —as the two headed into an area just a bit more heavily wooded than the span of the Wounded Coast at which Varric had made camp.

"He said Hawke did it," I commented absently.

That got Samson's attention, his ashen face and hard gulp a tell-tale sign that I'd hit a nerve. "He _**said **_that?"

"Well, he 'gestured' that to me." I perched heavily upon the boulder being used as a make-shift anchor. "Why? _**That**_ surprises you? Hawke staked Merrill and Aveline's heads, sided with the Templars, and sent Alistair off to Starkhaven; and Fenris losing his hands is what surprises you?"

Samson ran his hands over his face a dozen times, muttering to himself and pacing as if someone had an arrow pointed at him and told him it was the only way he would live.

"Samson..."

"Anders, I've done some things..." He stopped pacing and knelt before me. "Hawke isn't crazy. Well, I mean, he's not much crazier than he was initially. He's still an arsehole, but he's not a blood-thirsty maniac."

I'm sure I looked as if Kossith suddenly appeared before me and were attempting to waltz to lute music. "Samson, what in the bloody Deep Roads are you talking about?"

"Anders, I think you know more than anyone what can happen when you're an animal cornered. I... did what I had to do."

Ill would not begin to describe how I felt. Honestly, I can't explain what was going through my mind as I braced myself for what explanations and, most likely, excuses were about to come pouring forth from the other's mouth. "I believe it best if you just speak of what you've done."

There was a look of resolution that crossed Samson's face. He stood, obviously feeling that pacing would help him. "My rushing Sebastian and giving you and Alistair time to escape was all true; none of that was an act. But... Sebastian's younger, stronger, and not going day-to-day with a dust addiction; he over-powered me. Honestly, slitting my throat would've been a mercy. But he knew me too well."

"What did he give you?" There was no stopping the slight sneer already creeping into my voice. "Lyrium?"

Samson stopped his movements and chuckled, but it held no humour. "Aye, that, too, would've been a mercy. He found the one thing in my fuckin' life that I'd risk hide and hair to protect."

"Keep talking. And get to the meat of it."

"Hawke _**did**_ technically side with the Templars, but it was a surface decision: He spared as many innocents as he could during the road that led him to Orsino and Meredith. Sebastian's the one that... has lost it, a bit. But the man was never stable, was he? Vacillating on every point presented to him; the worst kind of hypocrite imaginable. He pretty much said, 'Fuck the Maker' and began a quest to reclaim Starkhaven; and after all his Chantry dedication, too. The problem is that the _**one **_thing he decided not to waver on was hunting you."

"Where exactly do you come into play?"

"I promised Sebastian that if you returned to Kirkwall without him capturing you in the interim, I would find you and hand you over."

"You said Hawke's not crazy, yet he's working with Sebastian?"

"No, not really. Hawke's playing with him, being just vicious enough to keep Sebastian on his side and not bring the Starkhaven army down on Kirkwall. It's mostly just a lot of spitting and hissing. Which is why, if he really did that to Fenris, yes, I am shocked."

My head was spinning. "But Varric said—"

"Varric believes his own lies; it wasn't hard to get him to believe all the monstrosities I told him I saw. I even lied about Aveline and Merrill— Their heads are perfectly attached. They're in Starkhaven under Sebastian's chains in case he needs to pull them out for bartering with Hawke at some point, but they're fine. I told you that to try to sway you from venturing around the city."

"Why—"

"I had to keep discord sown, even if just a little bit. If Hawke could rally all his former companions together and decided to just meet Sebastian head-on, Sebastian might decide that he didn't need me after all and... well, then, he might have decided to get rid of the one thing I was fighting to protect. But when you came back and you started talking about the truffle, well, I realized I had to start trying to make things right. That's why, when we went into Kirkwall, I just confirmed that Sebastian had taken Alistair to Starkhaven before coming back. And it's why I agreed with Fenris when he said we should keep running and not go back to camp."

All I could do, I found, was shake my head. "How...?"

"I know what I've done, but I couldn't, I just couldn't let him... I couldn't let him hurt—" He stopped talking completely, not even attempting to continue.

My thoughts went back to that moment in camp, how Fenris had stilled at Samson's presence, how Samson himself had seemed to look happier at just the sight of the elf. "It's Fenris."

"What?"

"Fenris is the one thing in your life for which you'd give everything." Of course it was a statement; it needed no validation. More contempt than I even willed poured into my words. "Does Fenris even know?"

If it was even possible, Samson's face lost what little colour was left, dark circles under his eyes standing out in stark contrast, making him age ten years right before me.

"You're not going to tell him?"

Samson shook his head.

"How can you even call yourself a man?"

"I don't. Even if I resolved to tell him, it wouldn't be now, not so soon after what he's been through."

"I had no idea anything ever engendered between you two."

Samson waved me away. "It was years ago. And it meant nothing. Well, it meant nothing on his part. Obviously it meant a great deal to me if I decided to fuck everyone over because of it."

The was a long uncomfortable silence, I not wanting to be the bigger person and stay civil and he not wanting me to press for details of his past.

That's why, when he knelt in front of me again, it goes without saying that I was shocked. "I think our best course would be to go to Brandel's Reach and hide out for a bit, mapping out our next move."

"Maker's breath, why?"

"Anders, you need to walk away from this. If you storm the gates of Starkhaven, not only will Prince Nug-Fucker run you through, but he'll do the same to Alistair. Then where will you be? Where will the rebellion be?"

"The rebellion doesn't NEED me; I've done nothing so far except make things worse. And it certainly doesn't need you, either."

"You made people think, which is a shitload more than most people have ever done." Samson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "There needs to be that little haven of peace in the Free Marches. You need to walk away from this alive." He leaned forward until our cheeks touched and whispered, "I need you to walk away from this alive."

"You're just looking for redemption on your own end." Now, where had I heard that before? Oh right: I was just looking for redemption; Alistair was just looking for redemption; now Samson was just looking for redemption. The whole fucking world was suddenly looking for redemption. I'm sure if we were to tap Sebastian on the shoulder and ask him what his main goal was (outside of stripping me of my vitals), he would say something along the lines of looking for redemption. Then he would disown the throne yet again and proudly strap Andraste's face back on his crotch. I pulled back and saw the smile that I recently thought would bring much trouble into my life. "Don't you dare look at me like that. You have no right to smile." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how juvenile I sounded. Sighing, I let my head hang. "Alright, Samson. For the third and final time, I'll step back and regroup. Now, how do we get to Brandel's Reach?"

Maker help me, his eyes lit up at my words. "You mean it?"

"Absolutely not!" Shoving him back on his arse, I stood, allowing myself a pure unadulterated moment of childish ranting and kicked a clump of dirt unto his lap. "Forgive my language, Samson, but Maker damn you and a Kossith fuck you. What you've done... You have no rights with me anymore, you understand me? If you so much as hitch a breath, I'll shoot lighting so far up your arse you'll never taste again. Do you understand me? I never thought I'd say this, but I take pity on Fenris and he seems to need you now. And you're going to tell him all you've done when the loss of his limbs isn't so fresh. Thank the Maker you saved my life, because that's the only reason I don't set you on fire right now."

Samson laughed. Damn him, he actually laughed at me! "So, Destroyer, let me get this right: You get to go behind everyone's back, lie to your companions' faces and have them escort you to the bone pit and down into sewers to get the very things you need to build your little weapon (yeah, I heard the stories), you share a bed with a man for whom you claim to have feelings for years without telling him anything you plan to do, and then, and this is the best part, you destroy many innocent lives with a bang. But then you leave. And, yes, I may have helped with that. But you don't show up for months and when you do come back, you decide you're a righteous arc of judgment and you're the only one who can stand up for what he believe. Admittedly, what I believe in was just to save the life of someone I love. But, Anders, truly, how different are we? At least I'm coming clean and no one's died for my actions."

"As far as you know." When did I become such a child in my retaliations?

"Say what you want, Destroyer, but we're cut from the same clothe, you and I. We both did what we had to when pushed."

If I had to sit through one more instance of nauseating silence, I was going to shoot lightening at my own person.

Imagine my relief when Fenris and Keran finally emerged from the thickets.

Keran looked quite please with himself, holding three rabbits high in the air. "I'm quite proud, if I do say so myself. Didn't even need Fenris to track them."

Fenris just shrugged, a surprised and somewhat impressed look painting his features.

It was easy enough to grab some sticks for a fire, and Keran proved quite skilled at, not just catching the dinner, but skinning and preparing it as well.

Keran rambled a bit disjointedly as we ate, but I paid little mind. I did, however, watch as Samson took to helping Fenris eat, holding the meat up to the elf's mouth without any preamble of making Fenris feel any less a man even though he was unable to even feed himself.

A bit of meat hung over Fenris' lip, not quite making it into his mouth, and the elf actually grinned; I'd never before seen that. Not only did he grin, he grinned at Samson, and it angered me.

"We're going to Starkhaven," I bit out between pieces of rabbit.

Karen stopped his rambling and let his mouth drop. "Star... what?"

Fenris glanced back and forth between Samson and I, knowing something important transpired while he was gone and obviously pissed he had missed it to watch Keran catch fuzzy animals.

"Samson and I discussed it," I continued. "If Sebastian's on his way back to Starkhaven with Alistair, we can quite possibly catch him on the road, perhaps with just a small caravan. Quick and quiet, in and out."

Samson said nothing but nodded in agreement. Whether or not he truly agreed with me or he was buying my silence in the case of Fenris, I didn't care.


	6. Chapter 5: Lyrium Still Coursing

A/N: Went through a career change, so writing took a backseat for a while, but that's all cleared up, so updates will be more frequent.

And I feel the need to say that Merrill and Aveline are NOT dead. I cleared that up in the previous chapter. TMI, my girlfriend looks way too much like Aveline for me to actually kill her. Aveline, not my girlfriend.

*beta'd by the goddess cowsarecool

* * *

Chapter 5: Lyrium Still Coursing

* * *

Walking. Keran catching rabbits. Walking. Samson twitching from lyrium withdrawals. Walking. Fenris glaring menacingly at any leaf that dare to fall in his path. Walking. My own angry glares at the back of Samson's head. Walking.

Walking.

By the Maker, Starkhaven was a long way from the coast.

We had no choice but to walk. Unfortunately, this meant a lot of extremely uncomfortable silences.

There were also two things looming overhead that I couldn't keep to myself anymore. Tapping Samson on the shoulder, I pulled him aside, not even bothering to make up a story to placate Keran and Fenris, who almost followed.

My grip on Samson's wrist was unrelenting as I whispered, "I told you twice Hawke cut off Fenris' hands. You seemed angry the first time when we were planning to sneak into Kirkwall, which, according to you, wasn't really sneaking at all. But the second time you acted as if I'd never said anything before."

Samson sighed a bit. "I've no answer for that. We were about to rush into Kirkwall; I probably wasn't thinking."

"Well, you _**obviously **_weren't thinking, but I'm not buying your shit anymore. You're leaving something out. It may just be one piece to the puzzle, but you're leaving it out regardless."

I'll give Samson credit for having held a straight face and allowing me to continue a crushing grip on his wrist. "I'm not some genius mastermind with a horrible grand scheme that I'm trying to see through. The only thing on my mind right now is us staying safe and finding Alistair."

"How can I even believe that?"

"Anders... I don't have a fuckin' clue. Would you like to kill me and be done with it?"

"I told you: Fenris apparently needs you. And, if you _**are **_actually trying to help me find Alistair..."

Fenris began approaching then, a stern gaze trained on me. As per usual, a limb was jutting in my face, but I wasn't quite sure _**why**_ this time. He just held it a centimeter away from my nose as if that was the final say in everything.

Gingerly, as to not disturb the hanging veins, Samson lowered the offending forearm and offered the elf a small smile. "No war is about to break out in our small group, Fenris, I promise you."

My anger, be it righteous or completely unwarranted, was bubbling to the surface, like an animal clawing at my skin and trying to emerge. I could feel the heat radiating from me and my composure slipping even further than it had already. Had Justice been awake, I'd have begun glowing. "Tell him," I said almost too quietly to hear through gritted teeth.

There was a look of sheer desperation flitting across Samson's face for me to stay quiet and it actually made me happy. "Anders—"

"Tell him!" I barked. "You love him so damn much, tell him! I hate the elf and even I think it's disgusting that he doesn't know!"

Fenris' eyes, instead of narrowing in their normally angry way, widened to the point of looking like a shunned child, and they fell on Samson and never wavered.

Letting out a long, almost exhausted sounding sigh, Samson asked me if I could leave them be for a moment.

I obliged, making my way back to a very perplexed Karen and leading him further down the path as Samson began uttering in that raspy voice of his.

Keran obviously wanted to ask what was going on, so I told him before he even had to voice the question. His face darkened a bit as we strolled, his shoulders slumping more in thought than defeat, and his left hand seemed to instinctively go to his sword. He reached out a hand to my shoulder and had us stop walking before he asked, "This came from Samson's mouth?"

I nodded.

"If it is all true, then you have to believe it on the whole."

I believe my expression was blank. "Keran, I don't know what you mean."

"You cannot simply believe pieces of it. You either believe everything he said, the good and the bad, or you believe nothing. If you believe he made the pact with Sebastian and all that lot, then you have to believe he's trying to make things right."

"Keran—"

"Don't. I know I'm a bit simple-minded, I admit to that. But you cannot only believe the bad about a person. Then you really are nothing more than the worst kind of hypocrite. And, Anders, face it: You're a hypocrite."

I heard Fenris before I felt his forearms shove me violently forward at that moment, my arms flailing to find some purchase but there was nothing but the hard dirt ground.

"Fen, stop." Samson's voice was never anything but gentle with the elf, and it always seemed to calm him down. "There's only four of us right now; we've gotta stop fighting."

Pushing myself to my feet again, I let the incident go. I don't know why Fenris felt the urge to shove _**me**_; maybe Samson had told Fenris that I had been the evil one. But Samson was right about one thing at least: There was only four of us and we had to quit fighting if we expected our four to survive and grow in numbers.

I felt Samson's lips tickle my ear as he whispered, "So much for letting me wait a bit to tell 'im, eh?"

I merely shoved him off. "It's been a week. It had to be done."

"Alright, Destroyer. I'll remember that."

_Hm. Maybe I **don't** want to cross Samson right now..._

Keran tried very hard to not let anything get to him, and I was starting to see that his constant ramblings about nothing and his little bouts of clumsiness all stemmed from fear. But there was also something a bit different about him after I had told him all that Samson had done; it was almost as if he had sobered or even matured, though just a little. He walked a bit straighter; his tone, when he spoke, was a bit stronger; and his steps seemed surer.

But it was on our eleventh day of walking that he surprised all of us.

I wasn't quite sure why exactly Fenris still went out with Keran to hunt small game; perhaps it was just routine at that point. Or, Maker forbid, Fenris was actually acquiring a soft spot for the lad. His pointy little ears always did stand up a bit straighter when Keran would show-off his kills. It was as if a hunter had passed down his tracking secrets to a student... except that, of course, that wasn't the case as Fenris was mute and Keran misread every single one of the elf's gestures.

Samson and I were quietly gathering some sticks for a fire and seeing if there were any logs in the nearby vicinity when the elf and the Templar retreated into the thicker portion of the trees once again to garner something edible.

But my eyes kept falling to Samson, who was almost in a constant state of shaking. He only had several branches in his arms, but they all came tumbling down on a particularly bad vibration. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, sweat dropping to the dirt like a pitiful waterfall. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes as his stance became wobbly enough that I rushed over to steady him.

"Lyrium?"

"Yeah." Samson clung tightly to my arm and allowed me to help him sit. "If I don't get— If I don't... I need some dust _**soon**_."

"What will happen if you don't get any?"

"Heh. You know how much you hate me now? Fuckin' triple it."

I decided to let Samson have a moment to breath and set about gathering the branches he dropped and lighting the fire. Of course, that meant yet another damnable silence (where was Keran when you needed him?) and it let my thoughts wander into shadowy recesses full of things I did not want to explore.

Like Samson. In the almost decade that I had known him, it felt as though I loved him or hated him and there was no room for middle ground. But, at that moment, I was desperately scraping for a median. The man _**had **_done quite a bit for mages without asking for pay or help over the years. The man _**had**_ saved my life several months ago. The man _**had**_ come clean about his wrong-doings. And, most importantly, the man _**hadn't **_stabbed me in my sleep after making him come-clean to Fenris. Which brought up something else...

"What happened between you and Fenris years ago?"

Samson had been sitting on a log with his head hanging past his knees, his breathing slightly erratic and face pale, but he spared a glance my way. "I thought we had an unspoken agreement that we weren't going to talk about that?"

"We're not the most honest men, you and I. You think some unspoken truce would keep me from asking you about it? Andraste's arse, Samson, it's you and _**Fenris**_. You had to foresee me bringing this up."

There was a dark chuckle followed by a bit of a coughing fit. "I suppose... Alright then, Destroyer. How about we make a deal? The more you and I gain common ground, the more we trust each other, the more I'll reveal of the sordid tale. But I'll give you a piece to start off with." He took a dramatic pause, cleared his throat, and, with a flourish of his arms, said, "We fucked."

I hesitated to speak, not only because of his crudeness, but because I was waiting to see if there was more. "Is... that it? That's all you'll say now?"

"That's all I'll say now. Let's see where the rest of this little journey takes us and I'll decide what else you warrant hearing."

I let it go; my nosiness at past affairs wasn't worth a fight.

The trees furthest from us began rustling as if a deer was being chased by a pack of wolves. Keran came tumbling out of the brush, Fenris followed, both out of breath and picking twigs and leaves from their hair and clothes.

"Andraste's arse," Samson stood, some color having returned to his face, "what happened to you two?"

Keran was bent in half, his hands on his knees. "Sebastian!"

That had me beside Keran's side in a heartbeat. "What happened? Did he see you? Did you see Alistair?"

"I'm, well, I'm actually not sure what Alistair looks like."

"He's probably be the only one tied up unless they garnered more prisoners. You don't remember the drunk from The Hanged—"

Samson abruptly cut in, "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SEE?"

Fenris laid a steadying forearm on Keran's shoulder as if to encourage him to calm down and speak.

"A kilometer northeast. Small caravan, two dozen guards at the most," the Templar stated. "A man at the head was calling to set camp; it was Sebastian, I believe. But, truthfully, I saw no signs indicating it was Starkhaven." He glanced at Fenris and asked, "Did you see any telling signs?"

The elf merely shook his head.

"Right. But I'm sure it was Sebastian that I saw. There were no guards on horseback, either. Oh, and there were only two wagons; perhaps Alistair would be in one of those?" Keran looked towards Fenris again and began picking leftover twigs from the elf's hair.

Fenris was attempting to swat at Keran like a pesky gnat, so I took the opportunity to speak with Samson. "You did say before that Sebastian had thrown Alistair in a wagon for the trip to Starkhaven, didn't you? If it was indeed Sebastian— and, let's face it, who else could it possibly be? —then he has to have Alistair. We have to think of a way to retrieve him."

"No fuckin' shit. But Keran said there were two dozen soldiers and you and I both know from firsthand experience that Sebastian's deadly with an arrow in any circumstance." He rubbed his thigh where Sebastian supposedly took a hunk of skin.

"Keran said there were only two wagons and everyone else was on foot; Alistair has to be in one of the wagons. We can't make a big scene. As a matter of fact, we shouldn't be seen at all; it'll be our end. But how exactly do we slip in and out—"

"Samson! Anders! I've got an idea!" Making sure he had our attention, Keran held Fenris by his forearms, which were the only part of the elf that wouldn't light-up from the lyrium due to the hanging strands. "Remember Kirkwall, Anders?"

The former Templar helped Fenris back up through a small tree before running around to the other side. Though the elf's forearms could not slip through the tree, the rest of him could. Keran gripped Fenris from behind and, as the elf emerged from the tree, Keran came with him.

I believe mine and Samson's jaws both dropped as I heard five words I never thought would be uttered: "Keran, you're a fuckin' genius."

I know for a fact that Fenris grinned with pride at the boy then.

Samson clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Alright, we have to plan this out now. Anders and I will—"

Samson, for once, found himself on the receiving end of one of Fenris' finger, er, limb-in-the-face rants.

"Fen, I have to do something," Samson murmured.

The elf shook his head to the point of his ears wagging. He gestured to himself and Keran.

"You can't possibly think I'm going to sit here while you and _**Keran—**_"

"Hey!" The Templar protested. "Can I start getting some damn credit here or does everyone really think I'm a bumbling imbecile? I think Fenris and myself are more than capable of a simple sneak-and-save. Besides, if Fenris and I are seen, we can lie our way out of it; say we were looking to join him or something."

Fenris held up his forearms.

"He's actually got a point," I agreed. "Despite the whole hanging incident, Fenris can say he wants to seek revenge against Hawke for his hands; or, well, Keran can tell them. And Keran himself can claim Hawke's going soft on mages and he realizes Sebastian's way is the right way. It's not fool-proof, obviously, but we've no time to truly refine it."

"What about us?" Samson cocked an eyebrow. "We're to sit on our arses?"

"Yes. Imagine what would happen if _**we're**_ caught. There'd be no lying our way out of it, Samson. And Sebastian would kill Alistair to spite me."

Without preamble, Samson lightly took Fenris by his arm and led him a few paces away, again speaking in a low mumble that Keran and I couldn't hear.

I cocked my head to Keran. "You seem confident. What exactly is it you intend on doing?"

"The only thing we really can do in this situation: Fenris will do his glowing-lyrium thing, back into the wagons to see where Alistair is, and just drag the man out with with him when he finds him. That way we can go in from the back or the side, whatever's not guarded."

"You think they'll leave a side unguarded?"

"Perhaps, yes, if the wagons are on the perimeter of their camp they won't post guards on the side facing the woods. Because, I mean, who could slip through a wagon wall?"

"You sure you're fine with this?"

"No. Well, yes. I'm fine with what I have to do and what could happen to myself if I fail. But I'm not sure with what could happened to Fenris or Alistair."

"Just as long as you're sure with what you're actually doing, you'll be fine. And don't trip."

"I normally only trip when Fenris does it to me."

"Then you should be fine this time."

The other two members of our party rejoined us, Fenris looking determined and Samson looking as if he was about to vomit. With a swift nod to me, Fenris gestured for Keran to follow him.

Samson sank to the ground as we watched them leave.

* * *

"Samson, if you don't quit pacing, I'm going to freeze your feet to the ground."

The man had begun twitching uncontrollably for a solid hour, and, had I not have known about his lyrium withdrawals, I truly would have hurt him.

"Samson, please, you're making me even more anxious. Sit."

"I'm not fuckin' sitting." He scratched at the back of his neck furiously and his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead giving him a desperate feel. "I shouldn't have let him go by himself. He's got no fuckin' hands, for fuck's sake!"

Of course I knew who he was speaking of without him saying his name. "He's not by himself," I pointed out as calmly as I could so as not to rile him up even more, "Keran's with him."

"But _**I'm **_not there! I just let him fuckin' run off to steal _**your**_ fuckin' lover back from fuckin' Sebastian bloody Vael of all bloody people!"

I stood with the intent to settle the man down, but I was met with blood-shot eyes that held so much remorse and pain that I found I could neither do, nor say, anything.

"I know how much you worry over Alistair," he whispered haggardly, "and I'm sorry if it seems like I'm belittling that. But if something happens to Fenris and I'm not there, I'll have nothing."

"You'll have—"

"I'll have _**nothing**_, Anders. I'm not being dramatic or trying to fuckin' seem pitiful. Fenris has kept me alive for the past ten years. You remember when your group was looking for Feynriel all that time ago? That was the first time I'd ever seen him. And there was..." He let his voice trail, finally settling enough to sit down and not put up a fuss when I sat beside him.

I remembered said night very well. "I said some awful things to you that night."

"And I dubbed you Class-A Fucker."

"What?"

"That's not important now. But that night I realized I was in trouble."

I couldn't stop myself from chuckling. "What was it? Love at first sight?"

"Fuck no. Nothing like that. I can't explain it. I just needed him. I grew to love him over time; I love him even now. And if I lose him, Anders, you might as well just string me up and call it a day because I'm not going on."

"It seems worse than your lyrium addiction."

"No, it's not—" He was about to say far too much, but he caught himself. "Yes. It's worse than craving dust."

Though up until that point I had been aggravated when a silence would encompass us, I welcomed it at that moment.

It felt as though another hour passed before bare, lyrium-streaked feet came into view as both Samson and I stared at the ground. Both of our heads shot up and we were welcomed by the first genuine smile I had ever seen on Fenris' face.

It seemed as though Samson couldn't help himself as he jumped to his feet and almost threw his arms around the elf but thought better of it. Reading his mind, and obviously not caring that I was right there, Fenris wrapped his arms around the shorter man's waist and pulled him into a brief hug (_**too**_ brief, according to the pout Samson wore).

_Well, that's fine and dandy, _I thought as Keran was coming into view behind Fenris, a look of utter accomplishment and insurmountable pride on his face. _If they're so damn happy, that has to mean Alistair's with them. Right?_

From behind me, I heard my name. Not "Anders"— my real name. And it made my heart stop. I heard it again. Slowly, I stood, almost too afraid to turn around, but I didn't need to worry about that as a hand was placed on my shoulder and spun me around.

Though he sported a black eye, one or two scratches, and seemed paler and thinner than the last time I saw him, Alistair was a sight far beyond gorgeous. But I couldn't move. After all that time, there he was, and I couldn't move.

With a smirk, Alistair excused us from the others and gestured for me to follow him past a line of trees and into a diminutive clearing by a small stream.

"I feel like a fool," I murmured. "I let you be taken, someone else rescued you, and now here you are right in front of me and I have no idea what to say or what to do. It's as if it's all a dream. I just don't even know how to react."

I felt one of his arms snake around my waist while his free hand took one of my own in his. Then he started moving; it was a bit rhythmically, but still somewhat awkward.

"Alistair, what in Maker's name..."

"Shhh. Don't ruin the moment."

"What moment?"

"We're dancing. It's romantic. Don't ruin the moment."

I moved with him, letting him lead, the brook beside providing a soft lullaby to which we could dance slowly.

"You're right: I was taken prisoner. But I don't want to talk about that right now. I missed you far too much to ruin this moment."

"Us dancing?"

"Yes. The entire time I was captured, I kept dreaming of dancing with you. Well, I mean, I dreamt of doing a _**lot**_ of things with you, but dancing kept coming up and I'm not sure why. I imagined you just being all flowy and graceful, lithe... just beautiful."

"Since you called me beautiful, I'll let the 'flowy' comment slide."

He leaned closer until we were cheek-to-cheek, his breath ghosting my ear as he whispered, "You _**are**_ beautiful. And I'll be very upset if you ever forget that."

Laughing, I allowed my arms to circle around his neck and buried my face in the crook there. While I knew we would keep striving to survive, I would have been utterly content to die right then in his arms. Without giving it any thought, I let three words slip from my lips in a soft declaration that was truly a vow, "I love you."

Alistair stopped moving and pulled his head back to look me in the eye. "Truly?"

It was then that I realized, though we had discussed the idea of love and he had declared it towards me, I myself had never done the same. "Yes, truly. I love you, Alistair."

If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn tears appeared to line his eyelids. When he held my face in his hands, my lips sought his out, the kisses that followed being deep and unhurried.

I moaned when his tongue slid along my lips and began tangling with my own, though there was no fight for dominance or frantic clashing of teeth. Though my fingers tangled in his hair, my grip was soft and undemanding.

We only pulled away when Samson appeared and insisted we needed to press on before Sebastian checked the wagon and realized it was empty.

Though both Alistair and myself wanted nothing more than to stay pressed against each other for hours, we agreed it was best to leave. Although, I made sure to steal one more deep kiss before we followed after Samson.

* * *

Next...

* * *

Suffice it to say, Sebastian was angry. Of course, he'd been outsmarted twice by Keran within twenty-fours hours; I'd have been angry, too.

But, and I felt it completely warranted, the only thing I was worried about at that moment was the knife being held far too close to my throat.

Samson, Maker bless him, was trying his damnedest to not let any more blood be spilled. "Sebastian, we don't need-"

"Silence, you turncoat!" Vael pulled my back closer to his chest as the cool steel of his blade produced a small red trail down my throat. "I'm ending this now, despite your claims."

Somewhere, like some ghostly whisper drifitng on the breeze, we heard a faint, "No."

Shockingly, it came from the last person I'd expect to say anything then: Fenris.

The elf was lit-up, his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared. "Let him go," he choked out, more gravelly than ever.

Despite the entire surreal scene before and around me, I chuckled. "I'll be damned."


	7. Chapter 6: A Walk's End

If any errors exist, it's not my beta's fault; I don't always listen.

Huge thanks to Misstress for catching the Fenris/hand thing on the last go 'round!

* * *

Chapter 6: A Walk's End

* * *

Dinner was completely forgotten. Samson was so twitchy and glad that nothing happened to Fenris that he didn't care about food. I was so happy to have Alistair back that I didn't care about food. Fenris considered showing hunger a weakness so he acted like he didn't care about good. Keran was still riding a mental high from rescuing Alistair that he didn't care about food.

"I'm starving." Alistair rubbed his stomach as a loud growl erupted fro him. "It's been hours. Can we stop long enough to eat?"

Dinner was almost completely forgotten.

"If I see anything edible off the path," Keran said, "I'll grab it."

Alistair whined, "Fine. But, if I collapse, someone's going to have to carry me."

It was far too dark to continue traveling, especially off the beaten path, but we did. We traveled right into a stream.

"Oh, sweet Andraste!" Keran fell to his knees by the water and submerged his head, pulling it up quickly with a wide smile gracing his features. "Feels so good..." He stood immediately stripping himself bare and wading into the middle of the water, which only rose to his thighs. He must have felt four sets of eyes on him because he faced those of us still on the bank and said, "I hope you all realize that I'm not the only who'll be doing this. Do you know how badly we all smell? Get in."

Alistair shrugged and followed Keran's lead, and I Was just thankful that he turned something that could have been quite arousing into something awkward and comical as one of his feet got tangled in his trousers and caused him to stumble head first into the water; Maker knows I didn't need to fight an erection in front of an audience. Righting himself, Alistair shot me a mischievous grin. "Come in, Ser mage."

"Fine, fine," I laughed, bending to fight with my boots, "hold on."

"Um," Samson cleared his throat, "Fenris and I are going to scout around the perimeter. We won't be far and we won't be long."

Fenris allowed himself to glow slightly to light the way as he and Samson headed into denser woods.

Keran's question of, "What perimeter?" followed a short silence.

I shook my head as I entered the stream, "Just let them go. Ate least we three will smell a bit better."

Alistair and I were quite a bit taller than Keran, which meant the water hid less on us than it did on the younger man. That wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been for Alistair's gaze never leaving my thighs.

Even Keran noticed the blush that started on Alistair's cheeks and began drifting down his neck and chest. Grinning a bit, the Templar excused himself, forgoing his wanted bathing for the moment. "I'm going to see if perhaps I can spot a stray squirrel or something. Or some berries." I barely noticed him slipping from the stream, hurriedly throwing his clothes on, and ducking into the brush.

The moment the boy was gone, I found myself wrapped within the strong arms of Alistair, his lips immediately crashing into mine. The subtlety of our last encounter was nowhere to be found; this was almost desperate.

As much as I wanted him, I wasn't one for public displays. "We don't have time."

"I'll be quick."

I murmured a halfhearted, "Samson and Fenris will be back soon."

"Let them watch." Alistair walked me backwards until my knees hit the bank.

Sitting on the ground behind me, I wrapped my legs around his waist, my lips seeking whatever part of him they could reach as I felt one of his hands splay across my back and hold me tightly against him. His free hand slipped between our bodies and wrapped almost painfully tight around both of our cocks, squeezing slightly before beginning a maddening pace to bring us off.

No romance. No tenders whispers. No soft caresses. There would be time for all of that later.

This instance was pure rutting, just seeking out release. But it couldn't have been with just anyone, and Alistair made sure I that knew, no matter how primal the urges seemed, they were only brought about because it was I to who he was next.

I don't know if the insane pleasure I was feeling was because Alistair's fingers were talented or just because we had been apart for so long; all I knew was how fucking amazing it felt.

My eyes closed as I attempted to lay back on the ground, but the hand on my back prevented it.

"Look at me," Alistair growled, his hand tightening and moving faster along our cocks.

My eyes shot open to see sheer lust permeating the features of the man before me, his eyes so dilated that they appeared black. I moaned his name as he bent down and nipped along my collarbone, his fingers never releasing their grip as he brought us both closer to release.

I began bucking upwards into his hand, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around me and his member sliding along mine causing whimpers of need to spill from my lips.

"So beautiful..." The hand on my back moved to grip my hair tightly as Alistair pressed our foreheads together. "I love making you moan."

"Maker, Alistair," I whispered between kisses to his jaw, "your voice alone could bring me release."

"Then come for me, love. Come with me."

I couldn't hold back my moans anymore, but neither could he. His pace almost began to falter as we reached our peaks, our tongues fighting for dominance amidst our shuddering orgasms.

Alistair allowed me to finally lay back as he pulled himself up on the bank beside me, trailing kisses up my neck to nibble on my ear.

We were planting kisses on whatever part of each other we could reach when Keran's voice sounded from not too far away, "Are you two finished yet?"

* * *

"They've been gone much too long; I think they're dead."

"Keran, please just skin the squirrels and quit saying Samson and Fenris are dead."

The Templar stood over the log where he laid-out his catch. He grabbed one of the critters and made sure it was belly-down before placing a foot on the back feet of the squirrel and holding the squirrel's tail forward along its back.

"It's very, very important that you take care of the tail," Keran said to no one in particular. "Don't cut it off, whatever you do."

Alistair's eyes were humorously wide at that point. "What happens if you cut off the tail?"

Keran never answered that question and Alistair would often ask him about it for years to come to no avail. Keran would always just suggest the Warden cut a tail off and find out firsthand; that never happened.

Continuing on, Keran placed the knife blade against the skin on the underside of the squirrel's tail, sawing through skin and bone but never severing the tail completely.

I couldn't tell you what he did after that. I'd already been called a hypocrite several times and I truly must have been because, while I had no problem eating the animals, I couldn't stand to watch them be cut up.

Mumbling that I was going to make sure our missing crew members really weren't dead, I left Keran to continue his mini-slaughter and Alistair to continue his transfixed viewing of said activity.

I allowed a tiny fireball to engender in my palm to use as a guide in the pitch-black woods. It was much more open and bright back by Keran and Alistair, but where I was traveling then was so thick with trees that it was almost impossible to see. After my sixth time tripping over a stray tree root, I was ready to quit and head back when the familiar rasp of Samson's voice caught my ear. I stopped and cocked my head, waiting to see if I heard it again.

After a moment, there was a bright flash of lyrium— much brighter than Fenris should have allowed considering we were still on the run from Sebastian. Sprinting towards the glow, I wasn't quite sure of what I was hoping to find. Although, it's very safe to say that what I _**did**_ find was the last thing I expected.

Fenris was naked and leaning against a tree, his head lolled back, mouth agape, body lit up so brightly that the entire area was drenched in blue. Before him, on his knees, was Samson, the former-Templar's head bobbing up and down in an erotic rhythm as his hands roamed lightly over the elf's body.

Reflexively, I extinguished the flame I still held in my palm, stifling several gasps that threatened to spill forth. The fact that Samson and Fenris were together wasn't _**that**_ much of a shock, as Samson had alluded to it several times (though he had always made it seem as if it was all in the past). I believe it was that Samson seemed like he would be the one on the receiving end, not the one on the ground seeming like the submissive.

I took a step closer, unable to look away, and I noticed something: Samson was _**worshiping**_ Fenris. And Fenris, in turn, seemed to be receiving more than something sexual. The elf bent in half, resting his forearms on Samson's shoulders, and placed kisses on top of Samson's head as the man continued his ministrations.

As slowly and quietly as humanly possible, I left them. There was something in me that said everyone deserved a bit of peace sometimes.

* * *

Keran had both of the squirrels void of their skin and roasting peacefully over the small fire I'd made earlier when I finally made it back to our all-too-tiny makeshift camp.

"You realize it would take about ten of these things to even begin to satiate mine and Anders' appetites, right?" Alistair took a stick and poked at one of the blackening creatures.

Keran frowned at the older man. "I think you mean, 'Thank you, Keran, for even finding these things in almost pitch-black woods while I stroked my lover's privates'."

"Yes," I answered for the other Warden, as I sat cross-legged between them, "that's exactly what he meant."

Alistair just blushed.

"Fenris and Samson were just discussing something; they'll be back shortly. I think."

"They're good for each other," Keran commented absently. "Like fire with fire or something. Two forces just... pounding against each other. Or something."

"Wait a minute!" Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose as a laughing fit took him. "Samson and _**Fenris**_?"

Keran nodded. "You couldn't tell? How could you not tell? There's little bolts of electricity between them when they're close. And Fenris actually listens to Samson. Who else have you ever known Fenris to _**listen **_to?"

We sat peacefully as Keran continued to check to darkening of the cooking critters and Alistair held one of my hands, examining my fingers, something which I was learning was a fascination of his.

None of us jumped when Fenris and Samson suddenly came into view. The former Templar seemed much calmer, his face having regained its colour and his shakes seemingly gone.

As elf and man sat with us, Keran removed the meat from the fire and began slicing small pieces and handing them out.

Maker, it just wasn't enough.

While I knew everyone was hungry, my stomach was painfully empty, as I was positive Alistair's was as well.

Keran was about to launch into a solid monologue about the different ways to skin animals when Samson cut him off with talk of what our next move would be now that Alistair was safe with us.

The talk was truly not deep as we each just spouted different cities we could try, most of them abandoned. Noncommittal talk mixed with exhaustion and hunger had my attention wandering all about me. Finally, my gaze landed on the elf.

There was something akin to longing in Fenris' eyes as he stole small glances at Samson when he thought no one would notice. I started to feel badly for him, which is an emotion I didn't believe I could feel toward him. The poor elf couldn't speak and he could barely gesture; although, his facial expressions got his points across more often than not.

I decided that, while I could do nothing about his hands, I could try to do _**something**_ about his voice. Standing, I made my way to Fenris, looming over him a bit too suddenly to his liking.

Jumping to his feet, Fenris let off a blue glow and took a defensive stance, one of his forearms almost purposely colliding with my face.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, you twit!" I grabbed his forearms and pushed them to his sides. "I just want to check on your throat."

"Fen," Samson murmured, "it's alright. He saved your life, remember?"

As always, Fenris calmed at the former Templar's words. The lyrium bands extinguished and he stood a bit straighter, lifting his head up to expose his neck.

I wasn't sure of what I was going as I lightly poked at the damage. Muscles underneath my fingers felt somewhat severed, stiff, and... bent? I attempted to loosen them as much as I could, but, shamefully, my actually knowledge of anatomy and such was limited (something I would make sure to rectify later on). I decided to shoot small cold bursts between the waves of healing; I was more frustrated and desperate than anything.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Samson sitting on edge, almost like a child on Feast Day expecting some grand present. I was most likely going to let him down.

I could barely focus on that which I needed. I knew I had to relax the muscles enough to straighten them, so that was my first task before moving on to sensing if anything was disconnected.

But my desperation to heal something with which I was unfamiliar began to take over. I knew if I continued on in my current state of mind, I might hurt the elf further. Relenting, angrily, I pulled away. I apologized, but I'm not sure if my, "I'm sorry" was more for Fenris or Samson.

"It's not enough!" Keran huffed.

"I said I was sorry!"

"What? No, not the neck thing." He stood, his hand reflexively moving to his sword's hilt. "I'm got to find more food."

"You certainly can't go alone," Samson pointed out, "especially when it's this dark."

"I'll go," I offered, fending off a protest from Alistair. The little ball of light was summoned to my palm and I began heading into the night with Keran following. "We'll not be long."

"Famous last words," Alistair muttered unhappily.

I was beginning to like Keran quite a bit and I found I could live with his little quirks (like the incessant rambling) because his intent was always pure and on the surface for all to see.

We weren't very far when Keran threw his arm in front of my chest and pressed a finger to his lips. "Did you hear that?" Without a word, he began climbing the nearest tree.

"Maker's balls," I whispered agitatedly. "What are you doing?"

"I have to check something," He whispered back.

"Keran!"

Nothing.

"Damn it. I'm going back then, you... little..." Any insult I had died on my tongue as I began heading back to the others. "Sod the damn squirrels."

I'd taken all of five steps when Sebastian stepped into my path, bow in hand and nocking an arrow. "I don't know how you did it but it matters not; Alistair was never my target. You, however, you murderous slag, are exactly who I'm going to loose this arrow into."

I don't even think I made a noise; something in me said to remain silent. And I saw what Keran was about to do.

"Nothing, Anders? After all of this, you've no last pseudo-witty retort?"

"Um..." I shrugged. "What's up?"

"'What's up'?"

"I am." Keran jumped from his perch in the tree behind Sebastian and latched on to the man's back, his hands immediately grabbing the prince's bow.

Shocked almost beyond movement, Vael dropped the arrow from his grasp, suddenly finding himself fighting as Keran held both ends of the bow and used it to choke the larger man beneath him.

"Keran, hold still!" Both men froze at my voice, and I used that time to shoot a bolt of lightening square into Sebastian's chest. Though his armour took the brunt of the attack, it was enough power to knock him out.

"Come on, hero," I grabbed Keran's hand and dragged him back to the stream as he watched the prince unconsciously sink to the earth.

"Isn't a 'slag' a worker bee?" Keran panted as we ran, his hand still gripping the bow.

I didn't answer but merely wondered about man in general's ability to focus on the trivial amidst the insane.

We practically careened into the others as we emerged from the woods. Keran was trying to offer an explanation as he tossed the bow into the water and I kicked dirt onto the small fire and manhandled everyone to their feet.

I was saying something along the lines of, "We don't have time to fill canteens" when Fenris and Alistair's eyes widened and Samson and Keran's hands when to their hilts.

"Shit." I didn't have time to turn around before Sebastian had one arm around my chest and another holding a rather long knife to my neck.

Suffice it to say, Sebastian was angry. Of course, he'd had a prisoner _**and**_ his bow (which he valued above his own cock) stolen from him by Keran within twenty-four hours; I'd have been angry, too.

But, and I felt it completely warranted, the only thing I was worried about at that precise moment was the knife being held far too close to my throat. There was no use risking magic to stun him; without my staff, I was running on reserves as it was— Between that and just having fired at him and attempting to heal Fenris' throat, the most I'd be able to do is shock the prince and piss him off.

Samson, Maker bless him, was going to try his damnedest to talk Sebastian down and not let blood be spilled. "Sebastian, we don't need-"

"Silence, you turncoat!" Vael pulled my back closer to his chest as the cool steel of his blade produced a small red trail down my throat. "I'm ending this now, despite any claims you may try to make. Just let me leave with the mage, and I'll strike your own wrong-doings from my ledger."

Somewhere, like some ghostly whisper drifting on the breeze, we heard a faint, "No."

Shockingly, it came from the last person I'd expect to say anything then, especially in defense of _**me**_.

Fenris was lit-up, his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared. "Let him go," he choked out, that gravelly undertone more prominent than ever as he struggled to be heard.

Despite the entire surreal scene before and around me, I chuckled, "I'll be damned."

The elf's return of speech only sent Sebastian farther into a whirlwind of anger. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"And here... I thought... we were friends..." Fenris snarled, visibly hurting from the strain of speaking.

"Tell me, Fenris," Sebastian taunted, "you've no way to wield a sword and you've no way to remove my heart. What exactly are you going to do?"

"Noth...ing."

"I'm sorry, your speech impediment is quite unfortunate right now; I thought you just said you were going to do _**nothing**_."

"I... did."

"You're going to do nothing?"

A voice sounded right behind us. "He doesn't _**need **_to do anything."

Before Sebastian could react, a knife was plunged deeply into his right shoulder, causing his arm to spasm and drop the knife that had dug slightly further into my neck.

Taking advantage of the moment, Alistair lunged forward and grabbed my hand, yanking me away away from the crazed Prince. It was then that I saw the owner of the offending dagger.

Isabela had turned the tables on Sebastian and hand him on his knees, the tip of her second dagger pressed to the prince's throat as Samson stepped forward and kept his sword hovering over the man's back.

"I don't know if I'd continue on with this," Sebastian snarled. "My men will wonder where I am and be here soon."

"Oh, I highly doubt that, sweet prince, as _**my**_men are taking care that right now. We've been keeping track of you long enough to not fail now."

Samson raised his sword in a motion the would normally precede a beheading.

"Wait!" As I wiggled out of Alistair's grasp, my voice sounded foreign, even to myself.

But Samson's blade was already in motion, and, though he tried to pull back, it sliced deeply across the prince's back.

An inhuman howl ripped across the woods as Sebastian fell forward, too weak from pain to support himself in any way.

Samson turned a hard glare on me. "Why the _**fuck**_ would you not want him dead? After everything he did?"

I returned the stare. "What about everything _**we've**_ done?"

"Anders, you've got to be shitting me right now, mate. You have to be jesting."

"We've done terrible things ourselves, Samson."

"We had purer reasons!"

"And he doesn't?"

Sebastian was attempting to lift himself on his elbows, small groans emanating from him.

Samson snarled at me and raised his blade again. "Fuck you both, then." He ran the blade clean through Sebastian's back in a smooth motion and kicked the now-limp prince into the stream. "Let him bleed out."

I was on the man in an instant. "How could you do that?"

"Heal him, then, if you care so damn much! But tell me, Anders: If you had watched him try to hang Alistair after he beat him like he did to Fenris, would you be objecting?"

Silence was my response; he caught me.

"Just quit fuckin' fooling yourself! When you blew up the Chantry, you pulled back the curtain to see who people really are. Sebastian kills to suite his needs; I kill to protect my own; and you kill for what you believe are righteous causes."

"So one reason is better than the other?"

"Yes!"

"Boys, put your dicks away; what's done is done— No need to get in a pissing match over it." Isabela wiped off the dagger that had been my saving grace moments earlier and began adjusting her usual attire of next to nothing. "My men are not far from here, hopefully finished with disposing of the Starkhaven pissants. And you're all welcome, by the way."

I shook my head clear. "Yes, Isabela, sorry! Thank you. I think we're all just... shocked."

She merely chuckled. "Good to see you, too, Anders. Blow anything else up lately?"

"Just my pride, on occasion."

Fenris stepped forward and bowed in greeting.

"Sebastian tried to hang him," I explained. "He can't speak much."

The Captain grimaced at that. "Now that's something worth mourning. No more of that sexy purr? Shame." Sparing a glance where Sebastian's body had disappeared in the stream, she added, "Seductive accent be damned— the man was a complete prick." She glanced at Keran and noticed his slack-jaw and line of sight focused on her bust. "Eyes up, pup."

You'd have thought Keran was a child caught sneaking cookies before supper. "Oh— I— uh— Miss— Well—"

"Good thing you're cute." She sashayed by the Templar and pinched his bum. "Follow me then, lads."

I'm pretty sure Keran would have melted into a puddle of lust if he could have.

* * *

The sun had crept steadily over the horizon as we traveled.

Even Keran refused to ramble as we filed after Isabela like ducklings behind their mother. Samson and I kept as much space between each other as we possibly could like we were adolescents in a fight over who ate the last sweet.

Thankfully, Alistair wasn't holding his tongue and was asking questions that needed to be voiced.

"You're _Captain _Isabela, right? Aren't we traveling towards Starkhaven and away from the coast where a ship would be?"

"Ah, observant man, aren't you?" Isabela's walk hadn't lost its slink since last I saw her.

It did me well to notice Alistair's eyes never strayed below her neck.

"There are pockets of strays and survivors all over the place now; I and my group are no different. We found an abandoned town at the base of the Vimmark Mountains that possibly served as an outpost at one point. It's defensible and well-fortified, so we've built it up instead of treating it as merely temporary." She caught Alistair as he tripped over his own feet and added, "It would be nice if you boys would stay with us. We're in desperate need of a mage, too, Anders."

"Now that's something you rarely hear," I retorted.

"True, especially about one as destructive as you." She turned and gave me a wink. "But we've only a couple of natural healers and we've lost a few good people because of it." She glanced to Samson, "And, of course, I could always use another Lieutenant."

Alistair continued with his questioning, "You're not armed for travel—"

"Neither is your little assortment of heroes."

"True, I suppose. But you couldn't have ventured far form this encampment, could you?"

"You deserve candy for how observant you are, Alistair. Indeed, we're not far at all. I've had scouts out for weeks looking to see if the prince would be traveling back to Starkhaven, and, lo and behold, we finally caught him."

"What was _**your**_ dispute with the bastard?"

A scowl rivaling one of Fenris' crossed the Captain's face. "He tried to kill my Kitten before snatching her away."

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "Your _**kitten**_?"

"Merrill," I corrected. "She calls Merrill 'Kitten.' And you might want to talk to Samson about Kitten, Isabela; he knows much about Sebastian's recent activity."

"Oh, really?" Isabela's voice dipped an octave as she looked the man over. "Then he and I will certainly have a chat later."

I felt a presence to my right and found Keran striding alongside me.

He offered me a meek smile. "Are you alright?"

"Well, I..." He caught me off-guard, though there was nothing off-putting about the situation that should have made me tongue-tied. "I'm fine, Keran. Thank you."

"I ask because you're still bleeding. Can I see?"

"You... want to see my blood...?"

"No! No, nothing like that! There was just more blood than there should have been, given the circumstances. I was panicked that Sebastian had nicked your anterior jugular at first."

"My 'anterior jugular'?"

"Yes. You know," he placed a finger to the middle of my neck even as we walked, "the one between your interior and external."

"What is a jugular? A vein?"

"Yes. Exactly." He blushed rather deeply. "I'm not trying to embarrass you or show-off healing verbiage. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. No one's been able to find a way to save a person if their jugular's been severed."

I wrapped an arm around Keran's shoulders and halted him. "Show me properly."

The boy's face went from red to maroon. "Al-alright then." He faced me fully and placed two fingers on front right side of my neck. "This is your internal jugular." Two fingers found the front left side. "This is your external jugular." One finger traveled upward as he continued, "Your external jugular also travels up this side..." He ripped off a part of his sleeve and tied it around my neck like a scarf to cover up the cut.

Alistair's glare was a bit angry as he cleared his throat loudly, causing Keran to jump back. The Templar was blushing to the point of looking like the envy of the tomato fields and Alistair just looked jealous; I thought it was hilarious, albeit mean. Perhaps Samson was right in calling me a less than honourable man.

Isabela's laugh sounded more like a purr. "Things are fun already."

Mumbling something that sounded like, "Sorry," Keran rejoined the group and made sure to avoid mine and Alistair's gazes.

Alistair fell back and walked next to me, his fingers snaking in mine. "Keran? Really?"

"I was just teasing him a bit," I chided lightly.

"Be careful, Anders. He's a man, not a little boy with a crush; he could read it the wrong way and we'd have problems, which we certainly don't need internally."

For the second time that day I found myself at a loss for words at someone else's statement. Keran _**was**_ a man; when did that happen? Even seeing him around Kirkwall before "the incident," I'd always viewed him as a boy dressing up in armour with a wooden sword and playing pretend. But watching him now I could see it: tall, lean muscles, the fainest hint of stubble, a strong walk, and an all-too real sword at his hip.

Not only that, but he was apparently intelligent (he put my knowledge of anatomy to shame in the length of a second) and he was a capable hunter and tracker.

Keran _**was**_ a man.

Alistair noticed the realization come upon my features. "Do you now see why you should watch yourself? Can you please keep your cock in your pants unless I'm there to play with it?"

" 'Play with it?' That's how you choose to describe it?"

Before he could reply, Isabela called for our attention. "Right up ahead, gentlemen!"

I was expecting a town like Haven, almost remote and quite small. "Isabela... this is bigger than Lothering, farmlands included."

"And does that upset you?"

"No, no, not at all, I'm just... amazed."

Soon we were at the front gates of a large stone wall that surrounded the city, which itself backed-up to the base of the mountains that provided backing fortification.

Upon entering, we were rushed with a flurry of soldiers, all spouting information at their Captain and waiting for commands on other issues.

One soldier took precedence and bowed while saying, "The troop you left with has yet to return, Captain."

"I'm not worried yet; just let me know if they're not back within an hour." Isabela ushered us forward and seemed to hand us over to another guard. "Sacha, these gentlemen here are our new residents. Make sure they have lodging either in the guest hall or one of the unused buildings in the square, whatever they need."

The woman bowed in acknowledgment. "Yes, Captain."

"Alright, boys, I've a few fires to put out at the moment, but you're in capable hands. Plant your flags where you may, and I'll see you at supper." As she sauntered away, she leaned into to Samson and said, "You and I will be having a little chat later, Messieur."

Samson returned the growl, "Aye, aye, Captain."

Sacha snapped her fingers and led us deeper into what we deemed to be called Isabela's Kingdom. There was _**life**_ there. The town square market was beginning to open in the early hours, and it was surrounded by shops that looked rebuilt and occupied. There was one shop in particular that caught my eye, but I ignored it for the time being.

We were approaching the fortress, or rather the castle carved in the side of the mountain.

"By the Maker..." Keran breathed. "How did Isabela acquire this place?"

"Perhaps," Samson replied, "some things are best left accepted instead of questioned."

I felt as if I'd returned to Vigil's Keep, so much so that a thought crossed my mind that I felt best left unvoiced. I would just have to research it later.

We climbed a large outside staircase and came to an outside landing.

"There are only four levels," Sacha explained as she shuffled us into the main hall, which apparently was doubling as an eating hall if the long rows of tables and guards eating breakfast were any indication. "The room to the far back is the kitchen. The hall—"

"Is it an open kitchen?" Alistair interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"An open kitchen. Can anyone just walk in there?"

"Of course."

With a swift kiss to my cheek, Alistair excused himself, saying, "Find us a nice room."

The rest of us were brought to an east side hallway that contained naught but a stairwell.

"The second and third stories are housing," Sacha continued. "Most of us have bunked on the second floor, so try the guest rooms on the third if you'd rather stay here instead of finding a place in town. The fourth floor is off limits unless given permission. That's the Captain and her Lieutenants' quarters and studies. Any questions?"

"Yes," Keran said. "We just find a place and squat?"

"For right now. I'm sure the Captain has places for each one of you. Just make sure wherever you want to stay is actually vacant, lest you stir up trouble. Gentlemen." With a swift bow, Sasha went to attend her other duties.

Excusing myself, I left the remaining three in favor of heading back to town square. The shop that caught my eye was still dark and, upon closer inspection, I saw that it was empty. I stepped inside. While the building was covered in six layers of dust, in was in perfect condition. The main room was just the right size for a display counters and several tables. I proceeded to the back and into a large storage room that doubled as a kitchen. There was a staircase to my left so I took it to the second floor, which opened into several large rooms, two of which were joined and overlooked the square.

"It's perfect."

With a renewed spirit, I headed back to the fortress to fetch Alistair.

* * *

If Alistair had been in the kitchens, I missed him, so I took to was roaming around the guest halls. When I entered the hall of the third floor, Samson was entering one room while Fenris was hastily exiting another, colliding into me.

"Slow, Elf, what's your hurry? We've nowhere to which we need rush."

Fenris huffed, eyes narrowing slightly, and I had several dozen memories of a finger shoved in my face. But that wasn't the case that time. His expression softened, his ears drooped, and he gestured for me to enter the room from where he had just tried to flee.

Curiosity more than anything else had a hold on me, so I slipped past him and into one of the guest's quarters.

Closing the door, Fenris took a step towards me and lifted his head.

On cue, I placed my hands on his exposed neck, rotating bits of ice and warmth as I had done previously. "I should really make note of this," I commented absently. "Truthfully, I'm not even sure what I'm doing or how this helps."

His quip of, "When have you ever been sure of what you're doing?" sounded like he was given the unenviable task of chewing glass, but it was much less strained than the last time he tried to speak.

Once I had finished my administrations, we found ourselves sitting on opposite bunks from one another.

Fenris' allowances of showing emotion were new. And, quite frankly, sometimes unnerving. The most feeling (outside of blood lust) I'd ever seen from him until perhaps a few weeks prior had been when he killed his sister. There had been... remorse, perhaps? Most assuredly there was a glinting fear of being alone in his eyes that night.

But then, as he sat across from me, I expected nothing more than a staring contest until _**I**_ broke and demanded he either stab me or rip my heart out but just get it over with.

Then, once again, I realized he could do neither.

"I'm not pitying you," I offered, "but I _**am**_ sorry. People do not even wish your fate on mabari."

Fenris sneered, "Yet here I am."

"Yes. Exactly. Yet here you are. You're the reason Alistair is somewhere in this fortress depleting Isabela of her cheese reserves and why I'm here with him. I think you're also part of the reason that Keran's confidence has grown; if he believes he can impress someone like _**you**_, the very person who tried throwing him overboard not so long ago, he must be special."

The elf's ears actually seemed to wiggle. "Keran's not so terrible after all."

"And Samson's..." Shit. What _**was**_ Samson.

"Samson's a lyrium addict with moral discrepancies that are quite possibly irrevocable."

"Um. Yes. That." I paused momentarily, if only to try to make sure I was not dreaming. There I was, sitting with Fenris, almost chatting. Chatting with Fenris. It sounded like the plot of one of Varric's more dark and frightening novellas.

Yet I was there without fear or trepidation. Moreover, I felt metaphorically outfitted with compassion and... friendship? Maker help me, had it truly taken a turn to friendship?

Fenris quite possibly was going through the same litany of thought as he began to chuckle hoarsely.

"We've come quite far since meeting in the alienage, haven't we?"

Inhaling deeply, he began an explanation of sorts, though it took twice as long as it should have because of his vocal restraints. "I had forcibly kept myself blind to striking truths for many years, and I believe I did so out of pride. My own body was a terror I could reign down upon whomever I chose whenever I chose. To survive, I needed no one. It was because of that mindset that I truly never examined that which I was opposing. I only knew Danarius and Tevinter... Except you, I would never look into the eyes of the mages in Kirkwall; I didn't want to see them as people— How _**could**_ they be people? It was much easier and satiating to go about resting in the knowledge that mages were collectively out for more power and blood, caring naught for those who stood in their path. But," Lifting his arms to me, Fenris made sure he held my gaze, "a human did this, and not because he had to." Gesturing to his throat, he added, "And a mage did this, and not because he had to. I owe you much, Anders, when, in truth, I've earned almost none of it. While I can never condone what you've done with Justice and the Chantry, I can try to see that there is perhaps more to you than what the mythos would have me believe. Yes, there are blood mages and magisters and horrific entities in the world, but... if an elven slave can surpass what everyone would force him to do, perhaps a mage can as well." He ended on a coughing fit.

I stood from the bed I occupied and took the three steps to kneel before him, letting my hands rest once again on his neck to relieve the pain and massage the muscles. "I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it."

"I wouldn't dare." Instead of returning to the bed upon which I'd previously found myself, I sat beside him, feeling him tense just slightly but not opposing. "So, _**Fen**_, tell me about Samson."

"Pressing your luck might not be the best thing for you to do right now."

"He loves you, that's obvious."

"Is it? The last time I looked, he was a lyrium addict and I a walking lyrium vessel."

_Andraste's arse, he's right._ "Is that why he stopped shaking after he—" I stopped myself; no one knew I'd spied the elf with the man that night.

"I know you saw us, Anders. And, yes, that's why."

"How exactly—"

"That's none of your business. You know far more about the subject than I would have you. Let it go."

Fenris was right: I was pressing my luck with the elf and I needed to stop. Standing to leave, I risked a light pat to the should shoulder before stepping back into the hallway.

Alistair was in the process of opening each door and peeking inside.

"I'm right here."

"Isabela's got this place stocked to bursting!" Alistair's retreats into youth at the most mundane things always made me laugh. "And cheese? Maker, Anders, she's got half a dozen kind!"

"I cannot for the life of me understand your unnatural obsession with cheese."

"Hello, pot. I'm kettle."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you not have the same obsession with truffles?"

He had me there. "Alright, point taken. Now, come, I want to show you one of the shops to which I believe we should stake a claim."

Taking my hand, Alistair began leading the way down the hall. As we reached the stairs, the slight creak of hinges caught my ears.

I turned in time to see Fenris attempting to knock on Samson's door.

* * *

The entire time Alistair was examining the shop, his eyes were lit up in excitement and his smile stayed plastered across his face. "You found it."

"Just imagine two kids running from room to room."

"And you selling those truffles downstairs." He wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder. "Welcome home, Anders."

"This seems like the perfect time to hear my true name from your lips."

Before the word finished leaving his tongue, I'd turned in his arms and claimed his lips.

Now all we needed were a half-dozen kittens.

* * *

_Next_

* * *

"I let Alistair name him."

"Then it would seem Alistair is not much better than you at naming animals."

"Pounce was a _**fine**_ name."

Biscuits was still biting at Nathaniel's boot, flipping over it on occasion as the Rogue looked on in amusement.

"But there has to be a reason you're here, Nate."

"Do not call me that. And, yes, this is no idle visit." He scooped the kitten up by its neck and allowed it to settle in his lap. "She wants you back."

The laugh that erupted from me was equal parts bitter and humoured. "The Hero of Ferelden wants _**me**_ back?"

"I know you've a life here now, Anders, but 'tis a life built on other lives with which you decided you were simply done and discarded. It's time you've faced that."

"And what do you think I'm doing here? Dawdling? I'm making up for my actions in Kirkwall."

"How then? A few mages trickling in here and there?"

"Keran and I are establishing a new underground and I refuse to abandon it."

Nate sighed as Biscuits crawled up his chest and batted away at some stray hairs. "So what you will, Anders, but I'm not going back without you."

"So be it."

* * *

Team Vael, please save the flaming and just hang in there with me. Every story needs its Ganondorf...


	8. Chapter 7: Nepeta Cataria Interlude

A/N: Hurricane Isaac ate the original Chapter 7 along with all my notes and future scenes that were already written (and everything else on my pc that got flooded when a tree crushed my roof). So here's a snack to tide you over.

Question: Is it taboo to give Anders a "real" name or is alluding to it the only acceptable thing to do?

*thank cowsarecool for this even being cohesive. The hurricane really ripped me a new one.

* * *

Chapter 7: Nepeta Cataria Interlude

* * *

Isabela hadn't seen us at supper on our first night at her kingdom. Or the second. Or the third, for that matter.

Samson had also disappeared.

Despite being told there were places for us, especially me being a Healer, we were left to our own devices (except, obviously, Samson) for almost two weeks.

Finally, thank the Maker, Fenris gathered our incredibly large group of myself, Alistair, and Keran in the empty store over which Alistair and I resided and gave a concise statement of, "This message is from Isabela through Samson: 'Find a permanent place and make yourself useful. If I have a problem with what you're doing, I'll certainly let you know.'" He ended with a swift nod. "That goes for me as well."

"So..." One of Alistair's hands found itself rubbing the back if his neck anxiously, "that's it? We just listen for vendors shouting, 'We need help here!' and volunteer?"

"She did send somewhat specific instructions for Anders: 'If you can keep the explosions to a minimum, open a clinic in town. Don't even accept trades; give Sacha a list of your needs and I'll keep you outfitted.'"

I shrugged, "Sounds fair."

"I could check-in with the blacksmith," Alistair offered. "I got pretty good at swinging iron and being yelled at."

The elf turned narrowed eyes on Keran. "You?"

"I suppose I could check with Isabela's guards, see if there's a place there for me." Despite his words, uncertainty ghosted over Keran.

I decided to help out the boy, er, man. "If Keran here would agree to it, I'd much appreciate it if he'd apprentice himself to me. I could certainly use the help getting everything restructured and organized. And he's obviously a wealth of knowledge concerning anatomy and such."

Fenris merely raised a questioning eyebrow at the Templar.

"I..." Keran spared a quick glance at Alistair to make sure there was no rage there before nodding. "That sounds wonderful, actually."

We decided we would all get started the next day; Keran would come over for breakfast and he and I would get started on taking an inventory list to be sent to Isabela, and Alistair would seek-out the blacksmith and inquire about a position. If that failed, he said he would just become the first official town drunk of Isabela's Kingdom. Fenris said that would be unacceptable. Alistair stuck his tongue out at him.

I wanted to ask Fenris exactly what it was that he would be doing, but he took off for the fortress much too quickly. Keran also made himself scarce, mumbling something about finally finding himself a proper house. Hearing the Templar say that reminded me of my own home above us, the one that Alistair and I now shared; much like we'd imagined we would on that fateful boat to Ferelden.

Over the course of the previous two weeks, Alistair and I had been acquiring things for our new home; and removing the quarter meter of dust that covered absolutely everything.

It was by our good names alone (translated: the bills were all sent to Isabela) that we then found ourselves in possession of pots and pans for cooking, a dining table for six (the cats would need places to sit when they ate), a large writing desk, two boudoirs, and— my favorite item —a canopy bed.

It may not have seemed like much, but, for not knowing our fates at the time, it was all we felt comfortable committing to.

There was even a sizable garden if one exited the back door in the first-floor storage room, but neither one of us felt much like tending to it just then.

What we did feel like, however, was an activity along much more debauched lines.

Let me back up for a moment. On our first day in Isabela's Kingdom, I had just shown Alistair the building that we ended up claiming. It hadn't yet dawned upon me that Alistair and I had never actually... consummated our relationship.

After deciding that we would indeed be settling down, Alistair left hurriedly with the promise that he would return for lunch, which meant that I had time to do absolutely nothing.

So I sought-out Keran. For reasons I've never dissected, I knew exactly where to find him: the look-out tower by the front gate.

He looked so peaceful there in a time of such mental chaos, leaning against the stone railing on crossed arms and overlooking the rough terrain spread out before him as if it were a beautiful painting he had only then taken the time to appreciate.

Normally, I would have let him be, to just take a moment to clear his head, but I was too in need of his company at that moment. I settled next to him in the same manner in which he stood and let out a short puff of breath. "May I ask what befell Macha?"

My response came in the form of his shoulders tensing and his eyes glassing over, a shadow settling on his shoulders and forcing him to slump more-so than he already had been.

_Damn my tongue. _"I'm sorry, Keran, I shouldn't have asked."

"Why did you, then?" It wasn't an angry question or even accusatory; it was simply asked.

"Why would I not ask? She's your sister and you're my friend; of course I'm concerned."

His eyes finally met mine as he murmured, "No one's asked. Not that I was expecting people to, mind you. I'm slightly surprised you even remember I have a sister."

"Of course I do. Is she well?"

He held my gaze but didn't reply.

"Maker, Keran, I'm sorry. I already said I shouldn't have asked."

"No... No, it's alright, really. I just haven't spoken to anyone of it. I haven't wanted to. And, well... I guess there wasn't anyone with an ear to hear it."

"Well, you happen to be in luck, for I've two ears and time to spare. Lay whatever you would like on me: I'm listening."

Keran's form still held a bit of sadness, but he straightened up as the shadow seemed to retreat from him. "I'm... Later? Could we talk about it later? I've buried it so far deep in me that it might take a bit to dig it all up again."

"Take all the time you need, Keran. We're in it together now; my shoulders aren't going anywhere."

That earned me a toothy grin. "Good."

I left Keran after a bit and went home, where Alistair was already waiting for me. There had been no time for him to procure the bed yet, but he had made-do with a mountain of pillows of all sizes and what looked like a large rug underneath a pile of plush blankets. Candles lit the full perimeter of the of the room, casting a glow about us, seeing as he had pulled the shutters closed and forced the sunlight to find somewhere else to reside. A spread of fruit and wine was close by the make shift bed, waiting to be consumed, but Alistair drew no attention to it.

I found myself engulfed tightly in strong arms and pulled to stand before the pile of blankets. "Between the dancing and now this, Alistair, you're beginning to spoil me with your romantic gestures."

A smile. A twirl as if we were dancing. A kiss.

Maker, his kisses were perfect. He had a way of tilting his head just to right and melding our lips together so that our tongues could instantly find purchase with each other.

I let myself go and gave my body over to him completely. I allowed him to quickly strip me of my tunic and breeches (though the boots took a quick minute to yank off) and lay me out on the nest he had made.

He stood over me, but not as a hunter and prey. There was lust present in his gaze, yes, but the overall emotion was one which, while Alistair displayed it often, was one I almost never, if at all, saw with Hawke: Love.

Slipping his clothes from his body and tossing them in a pile with my own, he knelt over me, his knees settling between my thighs as his chest came to rest against mine, our tongues seeking one another once again.

"I've waited for this for far too long," he whispered between kisses. "Far too long."

"And what might it be exactly that you're waiting for?"

A low rumble started in his chest and turned into a deep growl. "This, right here. You underneath me, your thighs spread, my cock balls-deep in your arse."

When I spoke next, it was with laboured breath, as Alistair had taken that moment to wrap his fingers around my member and start a slow stroking rhythm. "And that would be all?"

"Oh," a dark chuckle, "that would be all for the first round. The second go will have you up against the wall, your legs wrapped around my waist as I thrust into you so hard you won't know whether to praise or hate me." Even as he spoke, he reached over my head to retrieve a small bottle that sat beside the forgotten wine, uncorking it with his teeth and pouring a stream into his free palm, coating his fingers 'til he felt satisfied.

There was no more room for preamble. A joke about the absence of foreplay was making its way into existence but died before the first syllable made it past my lips as his middle finger slid seemingly effortlessly past my opening and rotated in full circles within me.

"Maker!"

"I know I'm good, love, but, really, just call me Alistair."

My hands flew to the side of his face, yanking him into a hard kiss, my goal being to remove all breath from him.

I succeeded.

The fingers— when had he slid another digit in? —ceased their motions as he tried to get his bearings again.

"…Anders?" Was spoken through heavy breaths.

"Yes?"

"I… can't wait."

Leaning forward and reaching between us, I grabbed his cock and positioned it at the tight ring of muscle that was begging to be penetrated. "Then don't wait."

Alistair's moans were absolutely decadent. If one could peak just from listening to someone's voice, I certainly would have.

Despite our eagerness, Alistair gained a moment of sense and found the bottle of oil, pouring quite a bit on his arousal, making sure I wouldn't be hurt.

Truthfully, I was too far gone to argue over how he took me. I just _**needed **_him at that moment. Months of tension building up to that single space of time— We weren't going to last long, Gray Wardens or not.

The tip of his cock slid into me and I screamed, not from pain, but from relief.

Alistair made a quip about the neighbors hearing, but I didn't pay attention. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pulled Alistair into me, impaling myself completely in one move.

"Anders!" Alistair almost collapsed on top of me but kept his balance. "Maker's breath, you're so tight… And warm. Maker, it's like—"

"Alistair."

"Yes?"

"Just shut up _**move**_."

If he had meant to begin slowly, he forgot as soon as he pulled out, for the rhythm he set was anything but forgiving.

My mind felt shattered and I was speechless as I attempted to meet his thrusts but failed. Alistair pounded into me relentlessly, his hands gripping the blanket beneath us so tightly that his knuckles were on the verge of splitting open. Our bodies were so tightly pressed together that my cock was roughly trapped between us, jolts of pleasure shooting through me each time Alistair slid up and down and rubbed against my arousal.

It was too much. It had just begun and it was too much. I'd waited so long for this that, when I finally got it, I couldn't hold onto it.

I cried out Alistair's name as my seed shot across my stomach and even his chest, coating us quite thoroughly.

I tightened almost painfully around his cock within me, and it seemed to be enough to push him over the edge, seeing as he thrust jerkily into me a few more times before stiffening and releasing deep inside of me.

There are tales of Grey Warden stamina; Alistair and I are proof of them. But, at that moment, we found ourselves exhausted beyond any extra movement; Alistair couldn't even roll off of me.

"Sweetheart, I can't breathe."

There was a muffled, "Too bad," before Alistair reluctantly rolled onto his back and pulled me flush beside him.

"I feel like I just released months of frustration," he whispered. "Not _**bad**_ frustration, just..." His embrace tightened as gentle kisses peppered my temple. "Maker, Anders... It's just a relief to finally be with you like this."

"So then, mighty Warden, what about all that talk of more than one round?"

I never found out if the snore I got in response was fake or real.

* * *

The following morning, Keran showed up to breakfast with a large cat in tow and a kitten latched onto his shoulder and nestle against his neck. "I found a home on the other side of the market, close to the butcher's. The kitten was shivering against the front of a shop but seemed abandoned, so I thought maybe you'd like him."

The yellow puff of fur was placed upon my own shoulder before Keran laid the satchel that hung around his torso onto the kitchen table and sat. "I've brought everything we'll need to make our lists."

"And some felines as well, I see." Alistair emerged from the bedroom, stretching dramatically and snatching a biscuit from the tray I placed before Keran. He held the bread in front of him and then next to the kitten on my person. "Heh. He looks just like a little biscuit. That should be his name: Biscuits." Shoving the whole pastry into his mouth, Alistair spared me a quick kiss, a wave to Keran, and hurried down the stairs and out through the soon-to-be-clinic.

Settling in the seat besides Keran, I removed Biscuits from my shoulder and let him curl-up in my lap. "Explain the rather large alley cat that made its way into my kitchen."

"Oh. Him." Keran spared a glance downward and rolled his eyes at the rather rotund feline that was wrapped around his foot and chewing his pant leg. "_**He**_ won't leave me alone. I was buying soap last week, and he just followed me home from the market. Whenever you see me without him, it's only because I took rather intricate measures to give him the slip. He's a clingy animal. Would you like him, too?"

"What? Tear him away from you and break his little kitty heart? That's quite alright. Besides, I don't think Alistair wants to share a home with a cat the size of a two-year-old child."

"Speaking of Alistair, was he off to inquire about working with the blacksmith?"

"Yes. Should be quite interesting to see how that goes. I guess if he's not back in an hour or so we can assume things are going well."

We both downed a few biscuits before Keran gathered up his satchel and we headed downstairs, Biscuits clinging to my shoulder and the large chocolate-brown alley cat constantly on the verge of tripping Keran as it darted between the Templar's feet.

Standing in the middle of what would no longer be turned into a truffle shop but a clinic, paper and writing quill in hand, I begin the tedious task of list-making as Keran gave his input.

With Alistair busy helping to improve the guards' armour, it was nice to have Keran around. And, dare I say it, quite pleasant. The man was a great conversationalist when not worrying for his own or his companions' lives. And intelligent! Keran, at all of twenty-six, was apparently drifting neck-high in a sea of all kinds of information, a lot of it being medicinal. "Do you think we could cultivate some sort of herb garden in the back? It would be detrimental if you don't have stïhl berries or lïh weeds."

My brow rose of its own accord. "Um. Sure." _Of_ w_hat in Andraste's name is he speaking?_

Keran seemed to read my mind and blushed a bit as if he was ashamed that he might have embarrassed me. "There, uh, there's truly no reason for you to know of herbs as a Mage."

"Yes, there is, Keran. I shouldn't solely rely on magic, especially in these times and without my staff. And if you're to be my partner, I expect you to educate me when needed. Don't be shy, especially if it could save a patient's life."

Almost inexplicably, a smile broke out across Keran's face. "Alright, Anders."

"Please, call me-" I stopped myself so fast that my head actually jerked backwards and I was left staring dumbfounded at the Templar.

"Yes? Call you what?"

I tried to think of something to say with which to cover myself. "I was going to attempt a joke, but I couldn't think of anything."

Keran just kept grinning. "First time for everything, I suppose." Taking the quill and parchment from me, Keran proceeded into the storeroom and out into the backyard, making a list of everything that needed to be done and bought.

I tagged along and listened intently, forcing myself to turn into a sponge and absorb all the terms and definitions he spouted at me. My head began pounding; I would most assuredly be relying on Keran for quite a bit as we ventured forth.

"I was thinking about the mage underground back in Kirkwall" he said almost absently as he added on to the list I had started. "Samson had mentioned it in passing once; it's something that's held my attention. Isabela's obviously fine with you being a mage, so... Why not start something like that here?"

Even Alistair hadn't suggested anything like that. In my mind, the "mage haven" or even a mage underground had to be established somewhere else; I never thought I could just tap Isabela on the shoulder and ask about cultivating one there.

"We'd have to be careful about it," I finally replied. "Isabela's doing us a great favour by letting us stay here; I don't want to mess that up."

"Oh, I agree wholeheartedly. Let's get the clinic up and running and then we'll start working on the details of a new underground."

"Keran…"

The Templar let out a "Huh?" but never looked up from his furious scribbling on the parchment he held.

"Keran."

When his eyes finally met mine, I said, "You know you don't have to do any of this. You could go and… have your own life. Join the guards or something."

An almost sly smile crept across his face. "I know." He ducked back inside. "We've written down more than enough to get us started. Actually… Well, in truth, this room isn't big enough. We'll need more space if we're to fit more than a couple patients in here." His brow broke into a frown that I knew meant he was running three different scenarios through his mind. "Let's break here. I'll run this up to the fort, er, castle thing, whatever it is, and I'll meet you back here after lunch. We can talk about maybe asking the seller next door if we can buy the building from them and expand. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

I leaned on the table that Keran was bent over, checking the list once more, and got a strong whiff of something suspicious. "Keran, out of what is your soap made?"

Frowning in thought, several herbs rolled off of his tongue.

"What was that last one?"

"Nepeta cataria…"

"Keran, that's catnip! That's why that beast has been following you! Although, why he's only following you…"

"The soap was discounted," Keran mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as a wave of realization hit him. "Apparently the vendor knew exactly what it was and was just trying to get rid of it. I should've realized something when the furry lump kept trying to eat the soap at the shop."

I chuckled, "Keran, I'm very thankful the Maker decided to drop us into this situation together."

A smile was my response.

"What are you gonna name the bugger, anyway?"

"Well, since that one," he pointed to the furball still attached close to my collarbone, "is Biscuits, I was thinking of naming this one Truffles."

"Truffles? Really?" _**That**_, all things considered, really made me laugh.

"Truffles are my favorite indulgence. I know they're yours as well, don't deny it. I've seen you leaving Madame Mickal's quite a lot as I was heading there. That was why, months ago, when Alistair asked me what would be a good gift for you, I said truffles."

I felt as though I'd had a bucket of icy water dumped over my head. "You… told Alistair I liked truffles?"

"Yes. I don't remember how it came up… He approached me at The Hanged Man; but, you know, I don't remember how you came into conversation. I think Samson was there… Oh well, it doesn't matter. I'll be back after lunch." With Truffles in tow, Keran said he was going to drop our lists off to Isabela's aide before shopping around for new soap so that the local children would have no reason to refer to him as That Crazy Cat Man and throw rocks at him.

Left alone with what was, to me, a startling new revelation, I trudged upstairs, content to perhaps just take a nap to stop myself from thinking.

A new voice hit my ears as soon as I entered the kitchen. "You've no protection on this house whatsoever."

Startled to the point of screaming, I reflexively reached behind me to rip my staff from my back, but of course it wasn't there.

A man was reclined in a chair, his feet propped up on the table. "Anyone could just waltz in here and do Maker knows what before you noticed."

"Being the Rogue that you are, I don't think any 'protection' I could put on the building would be a match for you."

A deep chuckled reverberated in Nathaniel's chest as he removed his feet from the table and gestured for me to sit next to him. "It's good to see you yet live, Anders."

"And it's good to see you haven't lost your penchant for picking locks." I placed Biscuits on the floor as I sat; he immediately began attacking the Rogue's foot.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at me. "What might this be?"

"His name's Biscuits."

"'Biscuits'?"

"I let my friend name him."

"Then it would seem this friend is not much better that you at naming animals."

"Pounce was a _**fine**_ name."

Biscuits was still biting at Nathaniel's boot, flipping over it on occasion as the Rogue looked on in amusement.

"But there has to be a reason you're here, Nate."

"Do not call me that. And, yes, this is no idle visit." He scooped the kitten up by its neck and allowed it to settle in his lap. "She wants you back."

The laugh that erupted from me was equal parts bitter and humoured. "The Hero of Ferelden wants _**me**_ back?"

"I've been tracking you for a while, Anders, and I've watched these past weeks. I know you're in the infant stages of building a life here, but it will be a life built on other lives with which you decided you were simply done and discarded. It's time you've faced that."

"And what do you think I'm doing here? Dawdling? I'm going to make up for my actions in Kirkwall."

"How then?"

"Keran and I are establishing a new underground and I refuse to abandon it. Isabela also wants us to set-up a clinic; there's none here yet."

Nate sighed as Biscuits crawled up his chest and batted away at some stray hairs falling from his loose braids. "Say what you will, Anders, but I'm not going back without you."

"So be it."

"So be it. Hopefully you'll wise-up before the word 'drastic' is the only fitting description of the situation in which we find ourselves." Extricating Biscuits from his person and dropping him in my lap, he added, "I'll be around."

"How ominous."

"You realize I don't have to give you the dignified option of walking back to her at my side, right? I have every right to nug-tie you and drag you back. Don't take advantage of my waning patience."

Before I could respond, he left.

"Well. People seem to come and go so quickly." I decided that I did most assuredly want nothing more than a nap.

Biscuits concurred.


	9. Chapter 8: Pieces of a Lothering Journal

So I use ellipses a lot. But there's a new rule. When dialogue (only dialogue, not narrative) is structured like this: "Is that what you want, ..." with an ellipses right after a comma that signifies it's in place of a name, it represents Anders' real name. I hope that's not confusing...

* * *

Chapter 08: Pieces of a Lothering Journal

* * *

_Is it odd to keep a journal, considering I'm officially on the run again?_

_I've given that bitch Templar Nevina the slip. I know she'll find that phylactery, seeing as I couldn't bloody smash it. The good news is that they seem to have set some Templars on me that are dumber than any mabari I've seen, so I should be fine for a bit. __That bitch thinks she's always got me so pegged. I'll show her. I'm not going back this time._

_The better news is that I've met that man from my fourth escape, Duncan. I'm in Lothering. He saw me and I thought his eyes would fall from his skull, they were so wide. Apparently I'm "far too reckless to be out like this!" _

_Shows what he knows. I mean, I quite like him. He's letting me stay with him in a place he's rented while he's here, but I think it's only for a few days. He's scouting or some other such mysterious thing on which I didn't quite pick-up. The man's just shrouded in mystery, wears it like a cloak. Might be fun to try to peel that cloak away, if you understand my meaning. Ah, that would be a fun challenge! He seems so put together. Even out in the woods he was all stiff and duty-minded. Ignored all of my advances, too. I practically laid myself bare and spread before him and he just handed me a blanket and went to sleep._

_I can break him. I've always been able to get who I want, especially for just a romp. This Duncan will be no different._

* * *

_Duncan brought supper. Roasted duck and potatoes. Quite nice. _

_Very nice, actually. I forgot how… comfortable I am with him. I think I've told him my life story already and it's only been the first night. Maker, he looks so peaceful sleeping now, the fading glow of the fire dancing across his weathered features._

_Listen to me! Like a babbling apprentice with hero worship. Andraste's knickerweasels! It's not as if he's even interested in someone like me. A whore amongst the circle. Just someone to shove in a corner and use before walking away as if nothing's happened._

_Duncan deserves someone much more refined._

_If nothing else, _**I **_certainly don't deserve _**him**_._

* * *

_Duncan's refusing to let me out of this cottage. He keeps going out for "business," but he only does so after I promise to stay firmly put. _

_There's something about him that makes me not only actually take the vow, but keep it as well. But, in doing so, I'm left with nothing to do. He said he would help me once his business is concluded, though he never said _**how**_..._

_Remember how I said I've told him everything about me? Well, he apparently listened to every word. He genuinely seems to care about me. At first, I thought this was just going to be an arrangement built on owing favours: He helped me in the woods and is protecting me now, and in return I'll suck his cock._

_Speaking of, he's not breaking. None of my subtle advances are even putting a nick in that metaphorical armour of his. Surprisingly, I'm fine with that. I, dare I say it, respect him. Immensely so. I'm finding I don't want him to take me to bed so much as I want him to respect me in return. And I feel that he does._

_If nothing else, he seems to understand me when I speak. And I don't just mean he knows the words I'm saying; he sympathizes, maybe even empathizes, with my story, with my life. It's an incredible feeling to have the freedom for what feels like the first time to just speak and not be judged or have to worry if my words will earn me a reprimand in the form of a flogging._

_And, if he _**does**_ respect me... Maker, now _**that's **_an incredible feeling. _

* * *

_Duncan didn't speak all that much. That shroud of mystery I said he wore so well? It slipped not once. Even when... certain events occurred he still wouldn't reveal much. _

_It was yesterday, the fifth and last day, and all I could think about was how tense he had become... I just wanted to make him feel better._

_Truly, I just wanted to give him a massage, and I believe he sensed that there was actually pure intent within me at that moment. He didn't hesitate to remove his shirt or sit beside me on the bed with his back to me._

_He wasn't perfect, but he was magnificent. I drank him in like a dying man would water. Tanned skin marred here and there by scars both old and new, deep and shallow. They looked so much like my own, so innocent to look upon yet despicable in their history._

_It started innocently enough, just using little waves of warmth to help him unwind, but I felt as though I had to taste those marks. I couldn't help myself. I had to taste _**something**_ of him. I began to kiss his back, as much as he would let me, starting with a kiss between his shoulder blades. _

_Duncan whipped around suddenly and I thought he was going to strike me, but there was just... more understanding._

"_I'm sorry," I murmured even as I placed a kiss to his collarbone._

"_Anders..." came the sigh._

_That was my undoing. Something snapped within me at that. Anders is the name I gave myself in connection with the worst possible moments of my life. Duncan was the best thing that's happened to me; I had to banish him from using 'Anders.' I whispered my true name to him and it immediately rolled off of his tongue like a lullaby. I suckled his earlobe, eliciting a groan and he said my name again, causing my arousal to spark. _

_I realized I'd do anything for him._

_He faced away from me again to allow my hands to continue to roam slowly across his back and shoulders before slipping around to his chest, my lips meeting whatever skin they could. _

_My hands were suddenly engulfed in his own and he turned, a sharp gaze focused on me. "Do not awaken a beast you don't feel like fighting."_

_I shook my head, "I'm not fighting."_

_That earned me a lust-fueled growl. Duncan stood and made his way to a trunk across the room, calling, "Remove your robes."_

_I'd never obeyed an order so quickly in all of my life. _

_Duncan moved with all the grace of a predatory feline, his lean muscles rippling beneath skin so much darker than my own, his lithe form seeming to dance before me in the firelight. When he turned away from the trunk, he caught sight of my naked form and briefly paused, another animalistic moan ripping from his chest as he handed me the reason for searching the trunk: a vial of oil. "You'll use it only on me or yourself, not both."_

_A shiver of excitement shot down my spine from his tone alone. I'm so used to being the aggressor in these type of situations that him grabbing the reigns was a bit new; I liked it. _

_But his pants were still on and that was an issue. As I attempted to kneel before him, Duncan stopped me, two large, firm hands gripping my upper arms. "None of that now." _

_I felt a bit slighted as he undid his trousers and slipped them and his smalls off to join my clothes in their pile._

_Stretching across the bed like the cat that he was, Duncan leaned back against the headboard as I straddled him and his hands came to rest on top of my thighs, his eyes dark and half-lidded. "I cannot promise I'll be gentle," he warned. "Once it starts, you cannot ask me to stop."_

_I had barely gotten any oil on his arousal before he aligned himself with my entrance and slid inside._

_No. No, he didn't _**slide**_. With one hard thrust he completely sheathed himself inside of me and it was all I could do not to scream to the point of the walls vibrating as I dropped the oil and it shattered across the floor. My whole body shook from the motion, but it had not yet begun._

_Despite my being on top, Duncan had no problem finding and keeping an erratic, shattering pace. His fingers held fast to my thighs and he lifted and lowered me seemingly without my help as his own hips bucked upwards, causing a debauched sound of slapping flesh to encase us._

_I was speechless. It felt as if one strangled moan was the only sound I could make, but that was fine. My hands tangled in his thick hair and I attempted to claim his lips, but I suddenly found myself being lifted completely off of Duncan's lap before being shoved face-down on the bed. _

_With speed surpassing men half his age, Duncan pulled my hips up and shoved his cock back inside of me and continued his rapid pace, the rough treatment causing a burn to shoot through my whole body._

_I was on fire, and not just from the constant slamming against the bed; I could die after that, happy and content. I just needed Duncan. The mere fact that he wanted _**me **_like this was enough to make my seed shoot out across the sheets without ever touching my member._

_Duncan was hardly done. He gripped my ponytail almost too tightly and yanked me upwards until I was almost sitting in his lap. His teeth bit deeply into my right shoulder even as I braced myself against the headboard and continued to ride him._

_It was the first time I shouted his name. "Duncan... Bite me again..." I wanted him to mark me above all else. No matter what happened, no matter with who I might wind-up, I wanted to be branded Duncan's. _

_With a deep chuckle reverberating in his chest, he moved to my left shoulder, the bite much harder and deeper than the first, enough to draw blood. "Is that what you want,... To be claimed? To be mine?"_

"_Yes! Duncan, please!" I'd been reduced to begging, on the verge of tears of pure need. _

_Duncan gave me what I wanted. Propping me upon my hands and knees, he tore into me from behind with what felt like the intent to ruin me for anyone else; perhaps he did._

_I could merely chant his name, my limbs doing all they could to keep from collapsing. But Duncan did have an excruciatingly firm grip on my thighs; he wasn't letting me go anywhere._

_I felt a second wave of release washing over me and my hoarse voice still found a way to cry his name._

_The pounding continued until the thrusts started to loose some fluidity and their original force, but it was still mind-bending. _

_Even as my mind wheeled and I felt as though I was going to pass out from pleasure, I heard my true name being shouted as his seed was buried deep in me in thick ropes. _

_There were quick kisses to my back as Duncan slipped out, but we barely lost contact. Reaching down to grab my robes, he took up the task of cleaning us somewhat, mentioning he would find me replacement garb. Frankly, I didn't care._

_As he tossed my robes back to the floor, he pulled me against his torso and into a deep, lazy kiss before covering us with a blanket._

_Touching the bite marks on my shoulders, I don't think I've ever been happier. _

* * *

_**Next**  
_

* * *

"This has nothing to do with that!"

"You yell quite a bit now, you know. You used to seem so calm and collected." Damn my mouth.

Sebastian reared-back and slapped me so hard that my head slammed back into the stone wall behind me and my vision failed for a moment. "Keep talking, Mage. I've the luxury of taking my time with you now. No Alistair. No Isabela. No Keran. Not even Hawke. It's just you and I, these four walls, and my sundry assortment of tools here..." He picked-up a cast iron hand drill from the table next to us and examined it almost lovingly.

"You're... _**insane**_..."

"I prefer the term zealous."

"Sebastian, you've truly lost your mind."

I expected the punch to my gut, though it still caused me to gasp and spasm.

"How dare you speak to me as such!"

"This is not _**you**_..." Despite a large voice in my head telling me, quite vigorously, to shut up, my lips kept moving and words kept spilling forth. "This is why I tried to stop Samson from running you through."

The Prince actually faltered at that, his hand stopping before the drill touched my temple.

"We were on seemingly steady ground not four months ago," I offered quietly, forcing the pain he'd already inflicted to subside so I could keep my voice steady.

That was the wrong thing to say.


	10. Chapter 9: Cell Sadism

Chapter 9: Cell Sadism

* * *

It wasn't hard to decipher in what kind of room I woke up. My arms were strung up above me, solidly held by manacles, and my bare feet barely skimmed the filthy floor beneath me. Even without the aide of several torches casting a glow and shadows through the bars of my prison cell, I could tell I had been stripped to my small clothes as the rough stone wall behind me constantly grazed my naked back.

I knew what kind of room it was— I just didn't know _**where**_ the room was.

I'd apparently been knocked out because the last thing I remembered before my groggy attempt at getting my bearings was speaking with Nathaniel before deciding upon taking a nap.

That's when Nate's threat of nug-tying me and dragging me back to… _**her…**_ came flooding back.

"Very funny, Nate!" I called out in the semi-darkness. "If her highness the Warden Commander had truly wanted to see me _**this **_badly, all you had to do was hold a knife to my throat and I would have understood the gravity of the situation!"

The sounds of a heavy door swinging open and slamming shut again came from not far away, along with the clinking of boots towards my cell.

I decided to goad Nate a bit further, "And was stripping me necessary?"

"I personally don't think you're stripped enough."

My entire being stiffened upon hearing the voice. _No, no, no, no, no… I watched him die!_

Fear was gripping onto my shoulders and sinking its fangs into my neck, all the while snarling that this was it, I was going to die. Maybe. I was certain to be raped and tortured repeatedly before the luxury of death overtook me.

Finally, the owner of the Starkhaven brogue slipped a key into my cell door and slithered in, his usual garb of white armour replaced with a sleeveless black smock tucked into tight breeches normally reserved for horseback riding.

Sebastian's appearance was the fiercest I'd ever gazed upon at that moment, and that was mostly due to stress-lines beginning to sprinkle over his once handsome face and the premature show of white hairs that littered the mane he had forgone clipping and now wore to his shoulders.

_How… how did he survive?_

He stopped his arrogant stroll right in front of me, practically nose-to-nose, and gestured to a long table set up next to us covered in knives of all sizes, several whips, a saw, and a hand drill, just to name a few items.

I all but wet myself.

Perhaps it was wholly naïve to ask if Sebastian was doing what he was because of the Chantry, but I still did; it earned me a sneer and a punch to my gut.

The anger that so freely flowed through the Prince at that moment seemed to be powering him more-so than his own blood or even adrenaline. He zeroed in on me and me alone, his sole purpose to make me suffer as he believed I'd made others to do.

His shout of, "This is about so much more than Elthina and the Chantry!" permeated my skin and sank down to my bones, rattling me far beyond any comfort zone I previously had.

The only way I knew to deal with fear was to deflect with sarcasm. "You yell quite a bit now, you know. You used to seem so calm and collected." Damn my mouth.

Sebastian reared-back and slapped me so hard that my head slammed back into the stone wall behind me and my vision failed for a moment. "Keep talking, Mage. I've the luxury of taking my time with you now. No Alistair. No Isabela. No Keran. Not even Hawke. It's just you and I, these walls, and my sundry assortment of tools here..." He picked-up the cast iron hand drill from the table next to us and examined it almost lovingly.

"You're... insane..."

"I prefer the term zealous."

"Sebastian, you've truly lost your mind."

I expected the punch to my gut, though it still caused me to gasp and spasm.

"How dare you speak to me as such!"

"This is not you..." Despite a large voice in my head telling me, quite vigorously, to shut up, my lips kept moving and words kept spilling forth. "This is why I tried to stop Samson from running you through."

The Prince actually faltered at that, his hand stopping before the drill touched my temple. "Of that, you may speak."

I knew he was loathe to believe any words that came from my mouth, but I was left with nothing but to try. "The Starkhaven Prince, the man who is still devoted to the Chantry—that man is not a soulless murderer; he's not some sadistic torturer. You're a good man, Sebastian. We were on seemingly steady ground not four months ago," I offered quietly, forcing my voice to be steady.

That was the wrong thing to say, as it merely brought the circle of thought back to the Chantry explosion.

A level of fear I'd not experienced since being at the will of the Templars back at the Circle encompassed me as I felt the tip of the drill dig into my temple.

"Let's see if we can't bleed the evil from you, hm?"

The opportunity to beg for mercy was long gone and the thought that it would even work was ridiculous. I retreated into my mind, making myself be anywhere but in that cell and in the clutches of the last man I'd ever thought would stoop to sadism.

I thought of my childhood in the Anderfels, my time with the Hero of Ferelden, my first meeting with Hawke, the months on Flyman's Cove with Alistair, the surprise moments of happiness with Keran, Duncan…

My mind settled on Duncan and lingered, drawing me back into the time when I'd kept a journal of our time together years ago in Lothering. I tried to remember exactly what I had written and focus on that instead of the metal drilling into my flesh, the knives drawing intricate designs across my torso, the saw pretending to remove limbs.

Sebastian wanted responses from me, wanted screams of horror and a never-ending torrent of me begging for my life, but he did not receive it, for I was far away with Duncan.

If I was to die that night, my last thoughts would _**not**_ be on the treatment delivered by the bastard Prince.

But, for all my trying, I was still in the room, still at the mercy of the man who thought all evil sprung from my loins. I could still feel the whips as they dug into my flesh, sometimes down to the bone, and I could still feel skin rip away from my body only to leave trails of blood in their wake. I could still see the possessed look overtake Sebastian as he ripped my smalls from me and taunted me about how I missed my true calling as a worker at the Rose. And I could still feel every excruciating detail as Sebastian turned me to face the hard stone wall and proceeded to take every last shred of dignity I'd scrounged up and clung to.

He was taking everything from me. And he was making me believe I deserved nothing more.

There was a part of me, the size unknown, that could engender no negativity towards the man seeking to skin me alive. After all, I deserved everything that was happening to me.

Fading in and out of consciousness, I wasn't sure how long I was left hanging there: minutes, weeks, hours, days? All I know is that every time I tried to dig up Justice or any spark of magic, nothing happened.

At one point, I opened my eyes only to see Sebastian's retreating back as he left, snapping orders to a nearby guard. A Templar clad head to toe in heavy armour rounded the corner and approached me; at least I knew why my magic kept being sapped.

I felt on the verge of death and my will to hang on was all but gone when something inexplicable happened: I thought I saw a vision. The Templar stopped before me and lifted the visor of his helmet.

I was almost too weak to scream or speak, but I did manage to groan, "Get away… Stop playing tricks on me…"

"Anders…" A soft hand was placed on my cheek and a heartbroken expression overtook the Templar. "I thought I'd never get the chance to get you out of here."

If there had been any strength left within me, I would have fought to get away. But I couldn't. I was slipping further and further away. Maybe the vision of the man in front of me was a gift from the Maker, so that the last thing I would see before I died would not be some random Templar's face, but that of Keran.

* * *

There were voices ghosting over me, but my mind would place none of them.

"Fuckin' bloody soddin' Maker-damned… How did he survive?"

"Sebastian knew how to draw it out. He's barely hanging on as it is."

"There are no mages?"

"In Starkhaven? Are you daft? Please be quiet and let me work."

The fire of pain settled in every crevice and thinkable nook of my being. I knew I was laid out on a blanket in the woods. as my skin could feel every bump of a rock or twig through the thin sheet beneath me. My nerves were on edge and my skin was hyper-sensitive.

"Did you hear that? He said something!"

"He's been murmuring in his sleep."

"What has he said?"

"Nothing intelligible. He's in _**pain**_ like you cannot even imagine. Look at how much skin that fucking bastard removed."

"Keran, I've never heard that word from your lips before…"

So it _**was**_ Keran. My heart skipped a happy beat at registering the name and finally matching it to a voice.

"Will he wake?" My mind finally wrapped around the rasp that was Samson.

"Let's hope so. The guard change will be soon, and the first thing they'll do is scour the woods looking for us."

"I still can't believe Sebastian had someone on the inside. I knew Isabela was up to something when I intercepted the letter she was sending Hawke, but I know she had nothing to do with this. And how did that fucker even live? I ran him clean through!"

With what felt like years of exertion, I forced my eyes to blink open, coming face-to-face with Keran.

The Templar's face immediately lit-up, a light sheen appearing in his eyes. "Anders?"

Samson quickly shut up and knelt beside me, practically shoving Keran's face out of view. "Oi, Anders! You hear us, mate?"

The pain was so immense that all I could do was cry, and even the tears seemed to burn my cheeks. I found myself trying to pump little waves of healing throughout my body, but they barely did anything.

"I've found a place, at least temporarily." Fenris was now in our midst. "Did he awaken?"

"Barely," Keran sighed. "He sees us, I think, but that's it."

"Let us hurry, then. This is the third time you've gotten the better of Sebastian, Keran. He'll want to right this wrong quite soon." With a flash of lyrium, Fenris scooped me up with his forearms and I know I saw a sympathetic frown overtake him. Whether or not the whispered, "I'm sorry, Anders," was real or not, I'm not sure.

Fenris led the way to an abandoned shack, which I was vainly hoping was leagues away from Starkhaven castle, and laid me down as gently as possible near a small hearth.

The elf turned to the other two men and said, "I've already searched the perimeter; this will hold us for while, but we need to get Anders in travelling condition." He made his way to the door and stated, "I'll be watching out here."

Gingerly, Keran knelt beside me, murmuring, "I've no magic in me, Anders, and you're… you're in bad shape. Anything I might be able to do to help you is going to hurt. I've an herb to sedate you, knock you out again, and I'm hoping you'll take it."

I barely nodded.

With a small smile, Keran helped me to open my mouth and take the root he offered.

Once again, his was the last face I saw before the world went dark.

* * *

_Next_

* * *

I read the paper in my hands once more, then twice more, then yet again, until I had every word memorized as if it were a prayer I'd recited since my youth.

Yet I still did not believe it.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Keran offered, struggling to find anything appropriate to say.

Finally, as if I'd won against the imaginary ghost I'd been wrestling, I tore the paper in half, tossing it into the fire. "You did nothing. You saved me, Keran. Again."

A gentle hand came to rest on my shoulder. "Hawke can't have you," Keran stated, a firmness coating his tone. "No matter what deal Isabela struck, consider it void."

I found I almost believed him.


	11. Chapter 10: The Staff and the Bird

Chapter 10: The Staff and the Bird

* * *

_I know I'm dreaming. I know I'm in the Fade. _

"_Anders." _

_I turn to my right and come face-to-face with Keran. _

"_Anders." The Templar stands before me and takes my hands, lifting my arms above my head._

"_Keran, what in Andraste's name are you doing?"_

"_You need to keep your muscles moving." When he speaks, his voice his low, calm, his pitch sending a shiver down my spine, but it's one of comfort and not anxiousness. He turns me around and guides me to lie down on a table that's appeared. His hands stay steady and begin curling and digging into my thighs as a determined furrow disrupts his brow._

"_You're concentrating awfully hard on that," I comment with a chuckle._

_But Keran doesn't respond. He works my right leg first, his dedicated massage starting at my hip and travelling all the way down to my ankle before he grips my heel and lifts my leg, pushing it back to my stomach and pulling it forward again._

"_Keran?"_

_The Templar doesn't stop his movements but merely moves to my left leg, applying the same treatment._

_I decide it's most likely best to just relax and let the man do whatever it is he's doing; after all, it _**does **_feel good._

_Once he's done with the left leg, he goes back to the right, rotating back and forth for quite a while before he finally settles himself on a stool close to my head. _

_Taking my hand, he places a feather-light kiss on my palm and strokes my cheek, his gaze contemplative._

"_I don't think you know what it would mean to me if you woke up. Even Samson. Even Fenris, believe it or not. Just… don't slip any further, Anders." Leaning down, he kisses me tentatively. "Please."_

* * *

The numbness that wrapped around my body was beyond wholly appreciated as I came-to. I could still move slightly, but a tingle spread throughout my being that said I had been paralyzed not too long ago. Still, the most movement I risked at that moment was rolling my head to the right, away from the low-burning hearth at my left.

Keran was sitting cross-legged, asleep, his head being held precariously by a stiff arm propped on his knee.

My voice, when I found it, was rough, borderline Samson territory, and I knew it was badly scratched as I coughed out Keran's name until he snapped awake, his head sliding from its perch on his fist.

"Anders?" He blinked his eyes an almost comical amount of times before realizing I had indeed been calling for him.

"How did I know _**you**_ would be the one beside me when I awoke?"

A deep blush jumped to the Templar's cheeks and he had a hard time holding my gaze. He did, however, easily change the subject, "How much pain are you in? Can you try sitting up?"

I did. The movement was a bit shaky and hesitant, but I managed.

Keran pressed the back of his hand to my forehead and murmured, "Fever's gone. Good." Placing a nearby flask of water in my hands, he started to relate what I had missed. "We finally pieced everything together. Sebastian didn't have a man on the inside; Isabela was handing you over to Hawke."

Before I could give an incredulous gasp, he pulled a wrinkled lump of parchment from his vest and opened it, handing it to me.

Indeed, there in the pirate's handwriting, was a note stating that she accepted Hawke's trade and would gladly hand me over and that Varric would organize my capture and delivery. There was no mention with what I would be traded for but, knowing that woman, it was probably something as simple as a golden flask.

I read the paper in my hands once more, then twice more, then yet again, until I had every word memorized as if it were a prayer I'd recited since my youth.

Yet I still did not believe it.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Keran offered, struggling to find anything appropriate to say.

Finally, as if I'd won against the imaginary ghost I'd been wrestling, I tore the paper in half, tossing it into the fire. "You did nothing. You saved me, Keran. Again."

A gentle hand came to rest on my shoulder. "Hawke can't have you," Keran stated, a firmness coating his tone. "No matter what deal Isabela struck, consider it void."

I found I almost believed him. I changed the subject with, "How did you find me? More importantly, how in Thedas did you slip by Sebastian and become a guard?"

"Oh, that? That was easy."

I had to chuckle. "Really now?"

"When I came back to your house after lunch, I found the place torn apart."

A scene of a struggle with a dwarf that ended in a chair being thrown at my head flashed across my mind.

"I wouldn't think a man sent by Varric would be sloppy, but he was. Probably drunk and thought you'd be easy. I couldn't find Alistair, but I found Samson and Fenris, and, between the three of us, you were easy to track down. Unfortunately, Sebastian's men found you first. We were going to use Fenris to slip through the castle walls, but we realized we needed to be a bit more cautious than that. It took a couple of weeks, but we finally had the duty roster down, as well as the easiest guards to fool into thinking Samson and I were, not only new recruits, but taking over their stations. The first opportunity I had, I grabbed you. Because we had taken so much time to learn the guard, it was pretty easy to make up an excuse for Samson and I to remove you."

Letting his story sink in, I asked, "Where _**are**_ Samson and the elf?"

"That's part two of this story. We had help from a travelling mage; actually, he's probably the reason you're still here. Name was Jowan. He had some fortification spells up around us for a while, but it came to a point that he had to leave. Sebastian's men have been relentless trying to find you, so Samson and Fenris set off in hopes of throwing them off of us. They planned on going back and grabbing Alistair as well, but… who knows what's happened."

"So it's just us?"

The Templar nodded.

"Keran, what would you have done if Sebastian found us?"

"I'm not sure," he shrugged lightly. "I wouldn't have gone down without a fight, though, that's for damn sure."

I reached out my hand to take his when the discoloration of my arm finally hit me. "Keran, please tell me you have a mirror."

He stood, reaching his arms out to help me do the same. I swayed a bit, but, whatever Keran had been doing while I was unconscious, it helped to make sure I hadn't lost too much strength.

There was a table close to us strewn with several books, pieces of scrawled-upon parchment, and his satchel. Digging in the bag, he produced a small mirror, handing it to me almost sheepishly.

I knew I wasn't going to like what I saw before I even glanced. While I was exceedingly pale and gaunt, it looked as if nothing had been done to my face; my hair was even back to my shoulders since cutting it on Flyman's Cove.

"He… didn't touch your face, really," Keran echoed my thoughts. "You were badly bruised, as if he had hit you many times, but no scarring."

Upon registering the Templar's words, I let the mirror travel downward to reveal the rest of my body. Piece by piece, remnants of Sebastian's hatred were revealed to me: My skin was red, parts burned and wrinkled, and the Starkhaven symbol was carved almost lovingly across my chest.

"Does the back match the front?" I tried joking, but my voice hitched too badly for Keran to be fooled.

"I won't insult you by saying 'I'm sorry,' but… yes. It matches. You were missing quite a bit of skin from your arms and legs, as well. We've gotten you pretty patched together, though there was nothing we could do for…" Weakly, he gestured to the symbol now holding residence on my torso. "I've never seen such hatred in my _life._"

"Cullen tried killing you when he thought you might have been possessed, though there was proof of the exact opposite. I remember Varric and myself having to pry him off of you, all because of something that happened to him years ago."

"Then it should hit you that much harder when I say that I've never before seen hatred like this. The man's commanding armies with the sole purpose of finding you, saying all of this stems from you."

"Wait. All of _**what**_ stems from me?"

"Word reached us of Circles rebelling, uprisings all across Thedas; and they're carrying on in _**your**_ name. Sebastian's goal was to torture you, publicly behead you, and travel across Thedas with your head on a pike."

"Maker's breath…"

"I was thinking, however, that this is the perfect opportunity for us to turn all of this around. Say we do go back to Kirkwall and speak with Hawke and we manage to strike a deal with him—"

"Or wind-up slaughtered."

"Well, yes, that's a possibility. But what if we go back to the very place that started this and you denounce what you did, admit that you erred. You don't have to back down on your principles, just…"

"Admit I could have handled things differently?" I smirked.

"Yes… You're a good man, Anders, with strong beliefs— beliefs that are good themselves. I think your passion just got the better of you."

The shake of my voice had nothing to do with it being scratched. "I'm not a good man."

"Then none of us are."

"I'm a liar, a murderer, a manipulator. I'll hurt you, Keran. I've hurt everyone I've ever been with; Alistair is no exception."

There was a slight pause before a quiet, "What did you do to Alistair?" hit my ears.

I didn't want to speak of it, but Keran deserved to know, especially after all he'd done and most likely would continue to do for me. "I lied to him. In a way, I've been lying to him for months."

"Some lies… are… understandable."

"I told him I had a platonic relationship with a man who in reality I'd been intimate with— twice. If Alistair had any idea about my relationship with this particular man, it would destroy him."

Without another word on the subject, Keran took a step back and made his way to a shadowed corner across the hut. When he returned to me, he held a staff. "It's not yours, but it should work."

"How did you get this?" My hands immediately shot out and gripped the tall, solid instrument offered to me. It felt more at home in my hands than my previous staff did. Then I felt it: A surge of power flowed from the wood and into my being, coursing swifter than my blood. It was officially mine. "Keran, _**how**_? Where did you find this?"

The blush was back, but there was no sheepishness to his form. "I made it."

"_**You made it**_?"

"When we arrived at Isabela's, I found her library; I was searching for anything medicinal, but I found myself studying tomes of magic." He gestured to the table. "So while you were unconscious, I made the staff. Does it feel right? Does it feel like there's any magic in it at all?"

As I said, I felt more power flowing through the item than I had my original. "It's perfect. I'm just trying to wrap my head around how you did it; you're not a mage."

"No, but did you know that most men who make staffs aren't? There are several ways to do it. If you know the person for who the staff will be, you can make a powerful instrument. Especially if you have f— if you have any kind of history with the person." He tried to turn away, but my hand grabbed his wrist in a silent plead of "stay."

"Why are you doing all of this, Keran?"

Resolute eyes met mine, but his voice was soft. "You know exactly why I'm doing all of this."

And I did. But neither one of us could say it. I felt as if I had already done so much harm to Alistair; I couldn't just abandon him and I certainly couldn't sleep with someone else and waltz back to him as if nothing had happened.

Funnily enough, however, I wasn't looking for a roll in the hay with Keran. Memories of Duncan flitted back for a moment, and I realized I felt the same with Keran: I wanted his respect. I wanted Keran to understand me, to not pass judgment, to have a love for me not born of lust or some half-assed oath made to someone long ago.

And I had all of that with Keran already.

Before I realized what I was doing, my lips found the younger man's, and the softness overtook me. The staff hit the floor with a sharp _thunk_ as my hands found a resting place on Keran's hips.

Wrapping his arms around my back, he responded just as gently. There was no teeth, no tongue, no tugging, no clumsy haste. Just a kiss that held something far deeper than either one of us understood and was willing to examine.

With a deep breath, Keran pulled away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize," I breathed. "Don't you ever apologize to me."

"I would not dare come between you and Alistair. Not now, not when you two need each other."

I opened my mouth to speak but was immediately interrupted by the door being kicked in.

"For fuck's sake, Cullen, do you _**have**_ to make everything about male bravado?" And then he was there, not five feet away from me.

Keran shoved me behind him as he took a fighting stance. I immediately reclaimed my new staff.

Hawke held his hands up defensively before gesturing to his person. "I'm unarmed. I'm here in peace."

"State your so-called peaceful business, then," Keran sneered.

"Keran, please move aside and let the adults talk." Hawke made an attempt to push Keran away but found a hidden dagger slicing across his cheek and being held at his throat. "Huh," he chuckled, "seems the lad's all grown up."

"_What do you want?_" Keran's voice was that of a warning growl. "We left and we stayed away."

"Ah, yes, I realize that." I'll give Hawke credit: He stood perfectly still, even bleeding from the shallow cut, not wanting to push Keran's ire any further. "But be that as it may, things have barely settled, and I think we need to amend that."

Keran spared a quick glance at me as if to say "It's your call."

I thought back on what Keran as very recently said about using a partnership with Hawke to help rectify things. With a slightly shaking hand, I lowered Keran's own weapon-wielding hand.

Negotiating with Hawke was either going to be a genius move on my part, or just one more decision that would have me begging forgiveness yet again.


End file.
